


Call Me by Her Name

by gardakuka



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternative Titles for Video Games, Christmas, Christmas Party, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Forever Alone, Gaming, Minor Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Minor Catelyn Tully Stark/Ned Stark, Minor Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Nothing Could Go Terribly Wrong, Playstation 4 For the Win, Right?, Set in Modern Britain, corporate culture, family gathering, minor Jon Snow/Satin Flowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:07:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 66,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21724252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardakuka/pseuds/gardakuka
Summary: It's time for the Christmas party, and Sandor's boss insists he should bring with him his girlfriend everyone at work had heard of a lot. According to Sandor's stories, Sansa is beautiful, smart, and has the perfect sense of humour, as well as shares lots of his hobbies - well, of course everyone wants to meet her!The problem is, Sansa the Perfection exists only in Sandor's mind.And if he will come to the party alone, he will simply lose his long-awaited chance to attend the medieval-style dinner for free, so hemustto find a solution to his little issue.Featuring video games, family gathering, not-so-wild Christmas party, friends with their terrible advises, lazy ragdoll cat, and one big fat liar who is called Sandor Clegane.A Christmas story from the person who had never celebrated Christmas.UPD. Chapters 1-3 are now betaed by MorticiaYouSpokeFrench :3
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 330
Kudos: 430
Collections: Numerous OTPS Infinite Fandoms, Sandor Clegan and Sansa Stark Stories





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *actually, my family celebrates Christmas, but it's a strictly religious holiday, as for fun and family gatherings we are celebrating the New Year :'D
> 
> As today is already the second Advent Sunday, it's time to start posting something dedicated to Christmas.  
> Another ongoing fanfic which I hope to finish around Christmas/New Year.  
> Although it's set in the modern Britain, I decided to play a bit with the names of movies/tv shows/video games. Just for fun :'D

“So yes, I will be waiting for both of you to show up,” Stannis said, dragging Sandor out of his usual daydreaming. 

He shook his head and frowned.

“Both of us?” he repeated, wanting to clarify what he had missed while thinking of how he could afford getting himself both a new VR set and an upgrade for his bike.

“That’s right,” Stannis nodded, looking very serious. “Both you and your girlfriend are invited to the party.”

“Yeah, Sandor,” Bronn shouted from his seat. “You’re feeding us with the sweet stories of your pretty girl for almost two years now, so now you _must_ bring her to this party.”

“Oh no, that’s impossible,” Sandor waved his hand. “She’s having tests in her Uni, and then she will have her own work party - so yeah, she’s really busy now.”

“You told us the same shit last year,” Bronn yawned. “And wait, when she is having her tests?”

“On Monday and Wednesday.”

“And her work party?”

“Friday afternoon,” Sandor answered without any hesitation. “The same Friday with ours.”

“Actually,” Stannis cleared his throat. “I’ve received a call from the venue today - they apologised and asked if we could move our reservation to Saturday. And as everyone answered me that they are free on that particular day, our party is now moved to Saturday night - which means your girlfriend will be able to join us easily.”

“We all are taking our ladies,” Bronn chuckled. “And every year we did the same, it was only you sitting there like a lazar - and that has to end this year.”

“I was there on my own because my girlfriend was busy and I am not a man who would make a play for a random wench when I am dating someone, right?” Sandor grunted.

“That makes you a good man,” Stannis shrugged. “And a devoted boyfriend. And if you are the one, I am more than sure that your girlfriend will be happy to join us for this party.”

“Oh yes,” Bronn suddenly jumped on his chair. “Remember, you told me that your Sansa is totally obsessed with the medieval stuff? So I guess she will be happy if you will take her to our party - it’s a medieval-style dinner, after all.”

“That’s a good point,” Stannis nodded, crossing his hands in front of him. “So you see, Sandor, why should you come on your own when you can make a surprise for your beloved one? And judging from your behaviour, you look like the type of man who enjoys showering his lady with all sorts of presents.”

“And if you’ll make her happy, you can end your day with a mind-blowing shag, that’s for sure,” Bronn snorted.

“Bugger off,” Sandor grumbled, turning to face Stannis. “I would _gladly_ take Sansa with me, but I don’t think she will be in the mood for any parties after she goes to the club with her own colleagues.”

“But you told us Sansa isn’t a heavy drinker, so I don’t see any issue here,” Bronn shrugged. “Listen, Sandor, I know that your Sansa is a beauty and everything, but if you are afraid someone from our department will try to hit on her - I will make sure his ass will be on fire for weeks after this party. You have my word.”

“It’s not about jealousy or anything,” Sandor started to mumble, but he was cut off by Stannis straight away.

“Besides,” the voice of his boss oozed honey. “If you will show up to this party alone again, you simply won’t be able to enter the place _at all_.”

“That’s not fair!” Sandor said resentfully. “I am your valuable worker, and I’m sure I earned a proper Christmas party with everyone else.”

“You did,” Stannis nodded. “But I am your boss, and now I am watching my _valuable worker_ being disrespectful towards his beloved girlfriend. So I guess I have all the rights to punish my _valuable worker_ and not allow him to join everyone else at that _long-awaited medieval-style_ party until he learns how people should treat their significant others, right?”

“Right,” Bronn agreed.

“That’s total rubbish,” Sandor mumbled.

“And I won’t hear any objections, Mr Clegane,” Stannis cocked his eyebrow. “You are coming to the party with that Sansa girl, or you are spending a nice and pleasant evening on the doorsteps of the venue, listening to the muffled sounds of the music and watching us eating, drinking, and having fun inside through the small window. Understood?”

“Understood,” Sandor muttered through gritted teeth.

“Good,” Stannis nodded, definitely feeling satisfied with himself. “Now, share the news with your lady and tell her we all will be looking forward to meeting her during the party.”

“And that she is welcome to come here any time,” Bronn raised his index finger. “I don’t know, Sandor, from your stories she sounds like an amazing lass just to have a conversation with, so why the hell are you hiding her from all of us?”

“He’s simply the type of man who hates to share his own things with others,” Stannis shrugged. “So I guess it goes for introducing his girlfriend to the others as well.”

“If she is as _hot_ as Sandor describes her, then he definitely has a point.”

“It’s not only about her looks,” Stannis, the rational one, pointed out. “She is smart, she shares almost all Sandor’s hobbies, which include non-stopping gaming and all sorts of reenactments, and she has a nice sense of humour too.”

“But looks are always a deal-breaker when it comes to the girls.”

“You are definitely wrong here, Mr Blackwater.”

“Yes, but in Sandor’s case I think…”

“Could you _please_ stop discussing my girlfriend and my private life?” Sandor cut both of them off, his fists clenched. “ _Pretty_ please?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Bronn coughed and Stannis murmured some apologies. “But still, Sandor, it’s not fair to hide your girlfriend from us. We are your colleagues, but we also are your friends, right?”

“Right,” Sandor muttered again.

Bronn nodded with a wide smile and went back to his work. Stannis eyed him suspiciously, but said nothing and retreated to his office. Sandor was finally left alone, just him, his project, and his thoughts about how deep the level of shit he had gotten himself into was.

  
  


***

  
  


When Sandor arrived home, the huge furball called Stranger decided to jump on his head from the hallway shelf.

“The hells were you doing there,” Sandor muttered, while taking Stranger in his arms. The huge ragdoll rolled on his back and started to purr like crazy. Sandor sighed, scratching him behind his ear.

He had to prepare a dinner for his cat, and then he could quickly make himself instant noodles and spend some hours in front of his TV, giving Stranger occasional belly rubs. It was a nice plan and the evening was looking quite relaxing and promising.

Well, if he wouldn't think about his _little issue_ too much.

Sandor’s sigh sounded more sad now. Bloody hell, he had looked forward to that day, as soon as Stannis announced how they would be celebating their Christmas party in October, Sandor and Bronn were constantly discussing how _perfect_ this idea was. They would listen to medieval music, eat food in a way like their very far ancestors did, dance to some merry tunes from the past (even though the brochure stated that after the themed party there would be some time to dance to the tunes of the 80s), and it was also a good opportunity to finally take out of his closet a hand-made armour Sandor made with Bronn a couple of years ago, when they decided to go to the comic convention dressed as the characters from “The Master of the Armlets”. It was supposed to be a very nice evening, but now it was slowly rolling into the abyss because of stubborn Stannis and his request to bring his _beloved girlfriend Sansa_ with him.

Well, of course he could take Sansa with him, he wasn’t a grumpy bastard who would treat his girlfriend like an evil piece of shit, locking her up in their flat and having fun with his friends while she had to sit in her room all alone. Sandor wasn’t that bastard, so he definitely would invite Sansa for the Christmas party with his colleagues.

If only she existed.

Almost two years ago Bronn and their colleague Jaime (who left their company just before the last Christmas, suddenly turning his life around when he resigned from his position, got married, and moved to France within one week) were trying to take Sandor with them to the pub. Nothing special, just to have some pints, fun, and maybe even find Sandor a girlfriend. Sandor wasn’t in the mood for any of those things, especially for the last one, so he put on his best mummer’s mask and announced that he just met a very special girl and would rather go with her to the movie theatre. He left his friends puzzled, took the tube straight home, and spent the whole night trying to beat the boss in the video game he was playing at that time.

The next day both Bronn and Jaime asked how his date went, so Sandor just shrugged and said he is now officially dating a very nice lass called Sansa (he picked that name from the nametag of a cashier in the Tesco he dropped in before going home last night). His friends started to ask him loads of questions about her, but Sandor managed to make some things up. He said she was tall and had red hair (just like the protagonist of the video game he was playing last night), her voice was soft and melodious, and she was just utter perfection, sharing the same views and interests as Sandor.

Bronn and Jaime said Sandor was a lucky bastard.

Sandor was just a lucky fat liar.

For almost two years he was free from Bronn’s jokes about him and ladies, Jaime’s attempts to introduce him to some girls, and everyone else’s rumours or comments about his looks and his love life. Sandor was telling them he had to spend time with his Sansa, then he was going back home, playing video games, watching movies, trying to teach Stranger how to attack possible robbers, and, basically, living his life of a bachelor in full. And Sandor was completely fine with that way of things, he didn’t need any relationships at the moment, he was free from unwanted attention from Bronn and Jaime (though he was still going out with them to the pubs from time to time, saying that Sansa went away to visit her family somewhere in the north), and he really enjoyed his life.

But now he was in deep shit. He _had_ to bring his girlfriend with him to the party, and said girlfriend existed only in sweet lies he poured into the ears of his colleagues during these two years.

“Maybe I can tell them we broke up just one day before the party?” Sandor asked Stranger while filling his bowl, but Stranger made a disapproving meowl. Well, his cat was right, this idea was quite bad - after all, if he told something like that to Bronn, his friend would start trying to set him up with some lass straight away. And that wasn’t the way Sandor wanted to spend his perfect Christmas party.

He could lie and say she was sick - but then Stannis would tell him to go and spend his time with Sansa, helping her to recover before actual Christmas came. He could lie and say he was sick - but then he would miss the party anyway.

Shit. It looked bad from all possible angles.

Sandor sighed, took his bowl with noodles and went to the living room. He decided to check on the latest news while his gaming console was turning on, and by the time all the updates were installed he had already finished his lunch and was joined by a replete Stranger, who jumped on the couch and curled into a huge ball of happiness.

Sandor dug out his controller and was about to launch an RPG game he downloaded recently but didn’t have a chance to play before when the message window popped out in the corner.

> **firestruck** : hey, fancy a match? ;)

Sandor sighed. A good fighting match was something that could lift his spirits up on a regular day, but now the level of shit he was weltering in was _too_ deep. He just wanted to spend some time on his own.

> **bloodymongrel86** : sorry, not in the right mood

> **firestruck** : oh, but don’t you remember you were the one who taught me that a good fighting match can lift everyone’s spirits up ;) ;) ;)

That was true. Some time ago Sandor was wandering between the playing rooms in one of his favourite video games, looking for someone who could join him for a match or two - and that was the time he bumped into this firestruck dude. They played a couple of matches, then the next day they were paired by the system again - in the end they added each other as friends. It was much easier to find each other if both of them were looking for a _decent_ match opponent, sometimes they were chatting instead of playing - and at one of the evenings Sandor had told him about the best cure for any issues. A good match with a worthy opponent. And now his online friend was trying to beat him with Sandor’s own weapon.

> **bloodymongrel86** : i remember, but the shit i’m in now is too deep

> **firestruck** : don’t tell me you killed someone or smth :o

> **bloodymongrel86** : fuck no
> 
> **bloodymongrel86** : just some troubles at work
> 
> **firestruck** : oh :/
> 
> **firestruck** : i’m sorry for you :c
> 
> **firestruck** : tell me if you need any help, okay?

Sandor made a barking laugh. The only way this dude could help him now was to find a lass who could happily agree to go with him to the buggering Christmas party, but somehow Sandor though it was a very dumb thing to ask.

On the other hand, it could easily pass as one of his jokes.

> **bloodymongrel86** : looking for a tall redhaired girl to come with me to the xmas dinner
> 
> **bloodymongrel86** : i mean, the one my work is organising
> 
> **bloodymongrel86** : so you could help me only if you know someone who could volunteer to go there with me
> 
> **firestruck** : is tall redhair your type or something?
> 
> **firestruck** : bet you jerked off a lot while playing the sundown of the firmament :P :P :P
> 
> **bloodymongrel86** : shut up
> 
> **firestruck** : sorry, was difficult not to make the obvious joke :D
> 
> **firestruck** : what type of party?
> 
> **bloodymongrel86** : medieval themed
> 
> **firestruck** : I VOLUNTEER
> 
> **firestuck** : no srsly, i heard these themed parties cost monies
> 
> **firestruck** : so i volunteer
> 
> **bloodymongrel86** : are you redhair? or tall? or at least a GIRL?
> 
> **firestruck** : of course i’m a girl :c
> 
> **firestruck** : what, now you think i’m a shitty player or what?
> 
> **bloodymongrel86** : shitty players can’t use delta as one of their mains
> 
> **firestruck** : oh thanks :D
> 
> **bloodymongrel86** : but i kinda saw it coming, you pick good looking dudes as your characters almost all the time
> 
> **bloodymongrel86** : so yeah, i can believe you’re a woman
> 
> **firestruck** : that’s mean :P
> 
> **firesturck** : you’re maining rafael almost all the time but i doubt it makes you a huge scarred angry dude or smth

Sandor casted a glance into the mirror on the wall and laughed. A huge and scarred angry dude, that was the most _perfect_ description someone could come up with. Strangely enough, it came from a person who had never seen him in real life.

> **firestruck** : but hey, so what’s about the party? can i go with you?
> 
> **bloodymongrel86** : if you think it’s good idea then alright
> 
> **firestruck** : cool!
> 
> **firestruck** : but i’ll ask you for something instead, okay?
> 
> **bloodymongrel86** : go on
> 
> **firestruck** : i’ll go with you to your party and will save your huge ass from anything you got yourself into
> 
> **firestruck** : and you’ll buy me death on the beach, deal?
> 
> **bloodymongrel86** : come on, it costs almost seventy quid
> 
> **firestruck** : i’m a student, i can’t afford it now
> 
> **bloodymongrel86** : and i’m a working man and still am waiting for the price to go down
> 
> **bloodymongrel86** : ask your parents or just simply wait
> 
> **firestruck** : can’t ask them.
> 
> **firestruck** : but come on, you need someone to go to the party with you and i am right here
> 
> **firestruck** : and i really want to play death on the beach
> 
> **firestruck** : please? ;) ;) ;)
> 
> **bloodymongrel86** : fuck, okay
> 
> **firestruck** : ;) ;) ;) ;) ;)
> 
> **firestruck** : thanks!
> 
> **firestruck** : so, what do i need to do now? when is your party?
> 
> **bloodymongrel86** : next saturday. but i’d say we need to meet each other before just to clear some things like your fake name etc
> 
> **firestruck** : ok, no worries
> 
> **firestruck** : i’ve always loved that fake relationship trope, you know :D
> 
> **bloodymongrel86** : ok, i’ll text you later when we can meet
> 
> **firestruck** : sure ;)
> 
> **firestruck** : well, your problem is solved
> 
> **firestruck** : so, fancy a match now? ;)

Sandor sighed and messaged that yes, now he could play a match or two. He decided to think about what he had dragged himself into a bit later - at least now there was a hope he wouldn't be thrown out of the venue by Stannis and would be able to enjoy his fairly earned party.

It ended up with Sandor’s seven wins in fifteen matches. That lass on the other side of the screen was definitely a professional player, he decided. He could ask her for some tips when they met in real life, for sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i loooooove them refereeeences, can you spot any of them? ;'D  
> hope you liked it :'D


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, thank you for all your comments and support! ;)  
> I'm really glad you liked the idea, so I hope the rest of the fanfic won't disappoint c':  
>  ~~Maybe I'll stick to this particular fanfic for little bit so I could finish it by the end of the year, but don't worry, I'm still working on the rest of my ongoings!..~~

“Ugh, Sandor?” Bronn approached him quietly while Sandor was saving all his projects and getting ready to leave his workplace.

“What do you need?” he raised his brow.

Bronn waved his hand towards the reception area, which was hidden behind the blurred glass door.

“There’s someone waiting for you,” he said in a hushed tone. “Suppose that’s your girlfriend.”

“Oh,” Sandor replied, keeping on checking if everything from today was successfully saved to the drive.

“What the hell, Sandor,” Bronn leaned forward and started to whisper. “I know that you told us she was a beauty, but now I can see why you decided to hide her from everyone else - she’s _so fucking hot_.

“ _Oh_?” Sandor finally raised his head and looked at Bronn, hoping he didn’t sound really surprised.

“Right, I’m sorry for saying something like this about your girlfriend,” Bronn cleared his throat. “But what can I do, she’s _really_ hot, you lucky bastard.”

“Yeah, she is,” Sandor mumbled, casting his glance away.

“What, don’t want to talk about her too much, you possessive little shit?” Bronn laughed. “Alright, I’m just joking, there’s nothing wrong with being _that_ possessive when you are dating such a girl as your Sansa. But man, I’m just wondering…”

“What the hell are you wondering about?” Sandor rasped, turning off his laptop and getting on his feet.

“She just kind of looks like, well, a common hot lass,” Bronn shrugged, his voice still low. “You know, the clubbing air-headed fake-boobed type, if you know what I mean. How the hell did you manage to date her for damned two years?”

“The answer is,” Sandor sighed, taking his backpack. “You should not judge people by their appearances.”

Bronn scratched his head.

“I suppose you’re right,” he mumbled. “After all, she looks like a hot chick with an empty mind, but you were always saying she has her head full of games, historical stuff and comics, so I guess it worked for you. Oh,” he grinned. “Speaking of her mind - I bet she's thinking of your dick all the time too.”

“Bugger off,” Sandor offered in a friendly tone.

“No problems with that,” Bronn laughed. “Anyway, I have a date scheduled for tonight, so you can go and have fun with your Sansa. Loads of fun. Just don’t break your bed.”

Sandor made a disgusted face and left.

So he and that Firestruck dude… dudess?.. Anyway, they had decided to meet each other today after he was done with his work (her classes finished around lunchtime), so they could go somewhere and discuss their plan regarding the upcoming party. Sandor gave her the address of his work and his name, so she could come and wait for him nearby - and apparently she decided to come straight to his work and start pretending they were a lovely couple in front of their colleagues.

Well, that was bad. They had to look like a couple, but Sandor knew that as soon as she saw him for the first time her face would be full of disgust, and her eyes would be full of terror. These were the exact two emotions all women expressed after meeting him for the first time, and Sandor knew very well that this lass would be scared and disgusted with him too, and he prepared himself for it. It was fine, but not in front of his colleagues. They could start suspecting something straight away and that could easily ruin Sandor's plans for the Christmas party. 

Well, Sandor decided to lie that his girlfriend was not feeling well if someone asked him about her reaction tomorrow. Apparently, he was _too good_ at lying, so there would be a chance for him to make something up.

He nervously squeezed the strap of his backpack and entered the reception zone.

"Oi, Sandor!" Podrick the receptionist pointed to the opposite side of the room. "Your girlfriend is here, did you know?" 

Sandor turned his head round to the direction of Podrick's hand - and at the same time a lass who was sitting there tilted her head to look at her _boyfriend_.

_Oh_.

That was the first and only thought Sandor was able to recognise in his head, staring like a fool at the person who was supposed to be his girlfriend. Well, Bronn was just partially right. The lass didn't look like the _clubbing air-headed fake-boobed type_ , she had plaited her flamelike red hair in a braid, a long fringe falling on one of the side of her forehead, and her dress was plain and notas glaring as Sandor was expecting, and her boobs _definitely_ were not fake. She wasn’t even wearing high heels, pairing her dress with sneakers, though both them and the dress had a more or less similar flowery pattern.

But there was one thing Bronn was right about. Even with her quite modest look, the lass was so _hot_ it hurt. Sandor gulped and cautiously moved his sight to her face, as it was time to finally meet her frightened look, shrug and take her away from the curious eyes of Podrick.

The lass was staring at him openly, her facial features small and delicate, her eyes deep and blue and full of… amazement?

Sandor shook his head. Wait, why the hell she was looking at him like this? None of the women he tried to date or was interested in looked at him the same way during their first encounter, and this Firestruck lass had to be the same as the others, she just _had_ to - who on the earth could stare at his ugly scarred mug with some sort of the fucking _amazement_?

“Are you going on a date?” Podrick piped in, dragging Sandor out of his thoughts. 

“Kind of,” Sandor mumbled, finally getting over the amazement and walking towards the lass.

She jumped from the chair, her pretty little bag already on her shoulder and her phone squeezed in her left hand, and judging by her behaviour, she was about to cling to his left hand so they could look like a typical lovey-dovey couple. The only problem was that it was his _left_ hand, which came together with the _left_ side of his face, full of nasty scars, which sometimes had the habit of starting to ooze even after a couple of medical surgeries and graftings that he went through during the past years.

But the lass really clung to his left hand and looked at Sandor with a wide grin, the stupid amazement still in her eyes. Well, maybe if she _was_ his girlfriend she wouldn’t pay attention to his scars at all. After all, they were dating for almost two years according to Sandor’s story, so she definitely had to accept him already with all his imperfections, which included his shitty temper, an army of long-lost socks somewhere behind the couch (sometimes Sandor thought that Stranger was stealing them to build himself a nest), and of course his scars too.

“Are we going, Sandor?” the lass said in a melodious voice and Sandor cursed under his breath. Bloody hell, she was playing her part really well.

He definitely needed to get to know her today, at least to understand how she was able to act like this. Was she an understudy actress at some theatre, or she just wanted her copy of the “Death on the Beach” so much? 

“Yeah,” he mumbled, feeling ashamed of how his voice sounded coarse and raspy compared to hers.

“Have fun, guys!” Podrick beamed from his counter.

Sandor nodded and dragged the lass to the lift.

“Bye, sir!” the lass waved her hand to Podrick, who was left at his working place with the happy smile.

When the doors of the lift had closed after them, Sandor finally allowed himself to exhale with relief.

“Thanks for coming,” he mumbled again, turning to the lass and looking at her out right. She was quite tall even without the heels, but out of the corner of his eye Sandor saw in the mirror how tiny she looked standing next to him. Tiny and _delicate_.

Anyway, everybody looked tiny and delicate next to him, even Bronn, so Sandor just sighed again.

The lass didn’t avert her gaze, still staring at him in a way that made Sandor start to feel a bit uncomfortable.

“What?” he grumbled after couple of quiet seconds. “Go on, say what is on your mind.”

“You definitely should cosplay Rafael one day,” the lass uttered rapidly. “You _really_ are a huge and scarred dude, but that will make your cosplay even _better_!”

“ _The fuck_?” Sandor asked politely.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said in a bit of a sadder voice, the enthusiastic flame disappearing from her eyes. “I just thought it could be a nice idea, and…”

“Look at my face, girl,” Sandor snorted, pointing to the scarred side with his index finger. “There’s no way I could enter any contest with this ugly mug you can’t hide under any face-paint.”

The lass stared at him again, her pretty eyebrows furrowed.

“Then you should go for a character who wears a mask, if you insist on hiding your face,” she pouted. “But I am _sure_ you would make the perfect Rafael - with your huge hands, your height, and even the way you talk…” she suddenly stopped, a tiny trace of pink blush appearing on her cheeks. “Well, anyway, you can wear your hair on the left side and make up a story that you are cosplaying him after the final battle of the story where he was severely wounded, it will work.”

She sounded so carried away by her ridiculous idea to engage him in all this cosplay shit, that at some point Sandor started to listen to her happy chirping. They arrived on the first floor, and lass clung to him again, playing her part _perfectly_. Sandor sighed. Well, he had to act like a good _boyfriend_ too, so he opened the entrance door in front of her and then asked if she would like to give her bag to him.

“No worries,” the lass chirped happily, but still gave her tiny bag to him.”Oh, by the way, where are we going?”

“I thought about the Nero nearby,” Sandor shrugged. “They make good coffee there, and I have a voucher for a free treat with them.”

“Sounds great!” she beamed, walking next to him and almost getting into the speed of his steps perfectly. “So, will you consider the idea of making this cosplay for the spring convention?”

“Only if you will be cosplaying Alyn there,” Sandor snorted.

“The one you were jerking off to?” the lass said with an innocent smile, making Sandor choke on his own laughter.

“Oh _come on_ ,” he grumbled after clearing his throat. “I made up my kind of girlfriend taking the appearance of Alyn as the base, that’s true - but it wasn’t about my type or anything like that.”

“Then why?”

“When my friends attacked me with the questions about my girlfriend, I just described Alyn to them since I spent around four hours during the previous night playing the “Sundown”, and that’s the end of the story.”

“I see,” the lass giggled. “But hey, why couldn’t you just tell them you don’t have a girlfriend? They’re your friends after all, they would understand you.”

“Somehow they think they know me even better than I do,” Sandor groaned, remembering all of Bronn’s attempts to invite various wenches to their quiet gatherings at the pub. “I am quite comfortable on my own and don’t need a girlfriend, and these two buggers were more than sure I need to get myself a lass and a good fuck, like, _urgently_. So I had to come up with a little lie about my girlfriend.”

“I see,” she nodded. “Well, you are probably a very good actor if you were able to make them trust you for ages.”

“Suppose I am,” Sandor sighed. “Um, I thought I need to say that I am sorry for dragging you into all this stuff.”

“No worries,” she waved her left hand, the right one still tightly gripping at his elbow. “I think it will be a fun adventure for me, plus I will come out of this little act as a winner anyway. A free medieval-style party and a free copy of the “Death on the Beach” - I mean, all possible sufferings are worth both of them.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Sandor grumbled.

“Sorry,” she looked at him with a sincerely apologetic stare. “I didn’t mean that hanging out with you could be a suffering for me, I just wanted to say that anything your colleagues could come up with during the party will be nothing comparing of what I am getting instead. Plus, I have finally got a chance to see an infamous Mongrel in person,” she winked at her words, but Sandor sighed again.

“And I meant that you should never accept this sort of invitation from a total stranger. Well, I won’t hurt you and am sincere in my only reason for dragging you out here, but someone else could make up a story just to meet with you and then, ugh, do some not so pretty things to you. So promise me you won’t be doing this anymore?”

“Alright,” she pouted. “But only if you will continue to play with me from time to time - oh, and we are definitely going to the spring convention, right?”

“Right,” Sandor agreed with a look of suffering and stopped in front of the cafe, opening the doors for the lass.

After they made their orders, Sandor found them a table in a quiet corner. Nobody would bother them there, and if any of his colleagues would drop in for a cup of coffee after work and notice them sitting there, they would definitely think Sandor was having a _proper date_ with his _girlfriend_.

“So,” the lass said after taking a small gulp of her macchiato. “About the story of your girlfriend - or, to be more precise, about me. Tell me how we got acquainted for a start.”

“You bumped into me on the street,” Sandor started to recreate the tale he was feeding his friends and coworkers with for all these years. “Then I helped you to gather your belongings - and noticed you had the latest release of the comic magazine both of us like to read. So then we started to chat and somehow ended up going to the movie theatre.”

“And watched “Knife Jumper” there, right?” the lass piped in and Sandor laughed.

“Yeah, exactly,” he nodded. “It was about two years ago, and they were showing that movie in every bloody theatre - so you got it right. And after that we kind of decided we liked each other and started dating. And that’s all.”

“Nice,” she tapped the paper cup with her accurate nails. “So you are the romantic type, huh?”

“Not at all,” Sandor’s laugh sounded like a bark now. “But it was something my dear friends bought without any hesitation.”

“Then it was a smart move on your side,” she giggled again. “Oh, and now to the main question - so what is going to be my name in this little play of ours?”

“Sansa,” he answered.

The lass frowned, staring at him with an unreadable emotion in her eyes.

“Sansa?” she repeated with some sort of suspicion in her voice.

“Aye, just came up with that name because I saw it earlier in the morning,” Sandor shrugged. “Hope you won’t mind being called that way when we are nearby my colleagues.”

“Oh, no worries at all,” the lass shook her head, her coffee forgotten.

“Uh, but what should I call you when we are alone?” Sandor asked, being angry at himself for not raising this question before.

“Well,” she shrugged, her voice lacking any of the previous enthusiasm. “If I am acting like your girlfriend, I suppose it will be easier for both of us if you will just call me by her name. That will make things easier, right?”

To be honest, Sandor was taken aback by the sudden change of her mood, but it wouldn’t be nice if he started asking her questions or trying to dig out the truth - she definitely wasn’t in a mood to provide him with all the answers, and he didn’t want to lose his ally who was able to help him solve his little issue, so he just nodded.

“ _Sansa_ , then,” he said, trying to test the name when it was addressed to an actual person and not the product of his imagination.

_Sansa_ smiled and nodded.

“Well,” Sandor sighed. “And now it’s time to introduce you to all the other shit I came up with during the last two years, I guess.”

“I’m all ears,” Sansa giggled. “But first, let me grab another cup of coffee - and then I will be ready to hear your story in full.”

Sandor nodded and followed her with a curious stare. She was a little bit strange, this _Sansa_ \- but damn, she definitely was hot. Maybe tall redhairs were his type after all.

Sandor shook his head. Anyway, he was still not really interested in getting himself an _actual_ girlfriend, and Sansa was here for the fake dating adventure, so it didn’t really matter.

The only thing he had to concentrate on now was to not miss a thing while telling her about the story of Sandor Clegane and his Perfect Girlfriend Sansa Whatsoever. That was the key to the perfect Christmas party, and Sandor was ready to fight for it with all his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooo... ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your support! （っ・∀・）っ

Sandor was cooking his dinner when the mobile he left on the table nearby made a short buzz. He put the bowl with an almost ready salad away and unlocked the screen with his free hand.

> **Sansa** : look, i’ve finished my gown!

She sent him a message and the picture of her in the medieval gown she promised to make before the party. Sansa claimed she was good at sewing, and looking at the attached picture Sandor decided that he agreed with her words.

The gown was well-made, and the combination of yellow, black, and gray fabric Sansa used looked perfect on her. The design was thought-out too, she went for a mixture of a real medieval dress and added something on top - she kind of looked like a character from a medieval-themed fantasy novel, or something. 

> **You** : That’s a nice one
> 
> **You** : The colour is pretty and suits you
> 
> **Sansa** : thanks! do i look like a proper medieval lady now?

She definitely looked like a lady in this picture, and it wasn’t only about her gown. There was something in her posture which could imply she was a woman from the higher society - that type who attended a girls-only boarding school and then entered Oxford just because of her heritage or parents money. But Sansa wasn’t a spoiled posh girl, Sandor learned during their meeting. She was doing her Master’s degree in sports management on a part-time basis, which allowed her to work almost full-time and get enough money to pay for her rented room and allow herself some treats from time to time, such as new games or pretty dresses. Her parents helped her with the money for undergraduate studies, she confessed, but then she started to live on her own and fully support herself. So she wasn’t a lady at all - but Sandor had to admit, she looked much better than any ladies from the high society he sometimes spotted on the first page of the Metro newspaper in the mornings.

> **You** : Aye, like a lady
> 
> **You** : Or maybe like some sort of the queen from a fantasy show
> 
> **Sansa** : haha, thanks! :p
> 
> **Sansa** : do you think i need to add something else to my outfit?
> 
> **You** : I think it’s already nice enough
> 
> **Sansa** : i’ll take that as a compliment ;D

They started to chat from time to time apart from their usual conversations through the gaming console system. Sansa kept on sending him funny pictures she took during the day, and after Sandor sent her a picture of Stranger, she insisted that photos of the lazy cat were sent to her on a regular basis. Sansa though he was a cutie. Sandor still stuck to the opinion his ragdoll was a fat lazy ass, who wasn’t able to follow even the simplest of commands.

Sandor had read loads of articles on cat breeds and decided to pick the friendly giant the ragdolls were. On one hand, he was getting himself a friend, and yes, Stranger proved to be the most loyal creature in Sandor’s life since his childhood. On the other hand, almost all the articles stated that it was highly possible to teach your ragdoll cat some simple commands, so they could act like a dog. Apparently, Stranger was a very special ragdoll who took all the commands of his master as more praises, and every time Sandor was about to teach him something, Stranger was falling on the floor, rolling on his back and loudly asking to rub his fluffy belly.

And now said cat seized the moment when Sandor was busy texting Sansa and stole some pieces of ham from Sandor’s salad.

“Thank you very much,” Sandor sighed and went to the living room with the remains of his salad, keeping on texting Sansa with his free hand.

> **You** : Your favourite piece of fur just ate half of my dinner
> 
> **Sansa** : :D :D :D
> 
> **Sansa** : but i don’t believe he ate the whole half of it
> 
> **Sansa** : you’re an intimidating man and he is just a cat
> 
> **You** : An intimidating cat then
> 
> **Sansa** : :D
> 
> **Sansa** : want to meet him one day
> 
> **You** : I’m sure he will be happy to meet someone who will be cooing at him all the time
> 
> **Sansa** : bet do the same
> 
> **You** : No
> 
> **Sansa** : oh yes you do :P
> 
> **Sansa** : want to play a match after your dinner?
> 
> **You** : Sure
> 
> **Sansa** : cool! :D
> 
> **Sansa** : i’ll be off now then to pack my sewing stuff

Sandor sent her a thumbs up and put his phone away. He wanted to turn on his TV and put something to play in the background, but somehow ended up eating his salad in a total silence. By that time Stranger emerged from the kitchen, constantly licking his snout. He tried to jump on the couch next to Sandor, but apparently the decision to steal ham from Sandor was his fatal mistake - his attempt ended with a fall and a loud thump.

Sandor burst into a barking laugh.

“And that’s how you learn what you can steal from people and what is better to leave for them,” he murmured, bending down and helping Stranger finally get on the couch.

The cat instantly jumped and curled on his legs, purring and asking for proper attention to his belly and neck. Sandor scratched him, listening to the loud sound. Stranger started to wave his tale too, and Sandor laughed.

“Careful, you could kill me with that broom of yours,” he muttered while trying to give Stranger a proper scratch behind his ear.

Sansa’s words that he was cooing at his cat came to Sandor’s mind.

“I’m not cooing,” he mumbled, giving his cat final scratch and sank back against the couch. Stranger curled up into a furball on Sandor’s lap and meowed loudly, as if thanking him for all the attention he had just received.

Sandor held out his hand and checked the phone screen. Sansa hadn’t send him any message yet, which meant she was busy. Probably trying to put together all her fabrics and needles. And a sewing machine, after all they didn’t live in the medieval times, she definitely had to have a sewing machine to make her life easier. And from what Sandor learned about her during their short acquaintance was that she was always getting what she wanted, especially when it was about the things which made her happy. Sansa told him how she took three extra shifts at work one week just to buy herself the camera she _really_ wanted.

She was a strange, but at the same time quite interesting lass. And it looked like she was able to make a good impression on anyone. When Sandor came to work the next day after their _date_ in Nero, he found out that apparently _everyone_ knew he had a hot girlfriend. Sandor didn't even need to find out it was Bronn the Scandalmonger who started to spread the rumour, but he didn't really mind. At least now everyone knew he wasn't lying for the past two years - well, he _was_ , but that stayed between him and Sansa while everyone else was more than sure Sandor Clegane was a lucky bastard.

He got to know Sansa a little bit, so from that point his stories about her finally got some volume. He learned that Sansa came from a huge family, that she had a dog when she was a teen, and that her favourite historical period actually wasn't the medieval one. Sweet and pretty Sansa was all over the World Wars, and somehow it made her even more mysterious in Sandor's eyes.

Of course, they were _dating_ now, so Sandor could ask her more, pretending he needed extra information to not make any mistakes. But when she was talking about her family her eyes darkened with some sort of pain, and sometimes she stopped in the middle of her sentence, quickly changing the subject some seconds later, so Sandor decided not to drag too much information out of her. After all, they were pretending just for his party, and he also didn't share his whole story with Sansa, it was quite fair not to push her.

When the phone started to buzz again, Sandor lazily bent over the pillows, looking forward a nice evening in front of his TV having some fun with Sansa and, hopefully, beating her more times than he had during their last match - but it wasn’t Sansa.

“Yes?” Sandor picked up the call with a heavy sigh.

“Hey, are you busy?” a happy and a little bit drunk Bronn said instead of greeting.

“Kind of,” Sandor answered coldly. Yes, they were friends, but at this moment he wanted to play a fighting game with his _girlfriend_ and not to listen to the drunken blabbering of Bronn.

“Well, finish your hot things with your hot lass and come here as soon as you can.”

Most probably Bronn was spending his evening in some pub - Sandor was able to hear muffled sounds of music and chatting, as well as the sound of broken glass.

“Where?” he asked out of curiosity.

“We are at the “Headless Northman” now, so finish all your lovey-dovey activities and come here to greet your friend.”

“I’ve already greeted you today at work.”

“No, you stupid boy,” Bronn snorted. “Jaime is here, so you’d better hurry up before he leaves to his wifey.” 

“Jaime?” Sandor repeated.

There was a rustling sound, which was followed by the sounds of Bronn’s complains.

“Sandor?” the speaker asked in Jaime’s voice.

“Oh, hi,” Sandor mumbled. “So, Bronn didn’t make it up just to drag me out of my flat.”

“Well, he didn’t,” Jaime laughed, sounding quite sober for a person who was spending time at a pub in the company of _Bronn_. “So yeah, Sandor, if you are free - then join us. Me and Brienne will be leaving tomorrow to see my brother, so I’d be really happy if you decided to come.”

Sandor sighed. Sometimes his life was giving him too tough choices.

“Alright,” he groaned after couple of moments. “I’ll take the tube, so it should take me around fifteen minutes.”

“No problem!” Jaime chuckled. “I will definitely wait for you here, and Bronn - well, Bronn is not in a condition when he can leave without someone helping him.”

“Like always,” Sandor snorted. “Well, I’ll be with both of you very soon.”

“Deal,” Jaime answered and Sandor put the phone down.

He groaned again, moving Stranger to the pillow from his lap, and stood on his feet, stretching. He just had to change his shirt and he was fine to leave. Anyway, he definitely wasn’t going out for too long - tomorrow was Tuesday, so there was no chance he would be able to drink more than a pint tonight. Bronn, the lucky one, had the day off.

Sandor scratched his chin, then looked at the phone in his hand. He needed to let Sansa know he would be going out, so that she could spend her time on something else.

> **You** : Hey, I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to play tonight
> 
> **You** : My friend arrived to London just for a couple of hours
> 
> **You** : So I will meet him
> 
> **You** : I mean, he lives abroad and I haven’t seen him for almost a year
> 
> **You** : Sorry
> 
> **Sansa** : oh, no worries at all!
> 
> **Sansa** : spending time with your friends is great :D
> 
> **Sansa** : i’ll just do something else then, and we can have this match later on ;)
> 
> **Sansa** : don’t drink too much :P
> 
> **You** : Are you my wife or something?
> 
> **Sansa** : :P :P :P
> 
> **Sansa** : is this the friend who was giving you advice on how to find a girlfriend? :D
> 
> **You** : Aye, one of them
> 
> **You** : The second one will be there too
> 
> **You** : Anyway, now I am spared from their counselling as I have a Girlfriend
> 
> **Sansa** : :D :D :D
> 
> **Sansa** : oh, where are you meeting?
> 
> **You** : Headless Northman
> 
> **Sansa** : cool! it’s a nice place
> 
> **Sansa** : they serve great food there, haven’t tried their drinks
> 
> **Sansa** : can i come too? :o
> 
> **You** : Why?
> 
> **Sansa** : i didn’t have my dinner as i was busy with the gown
> 
> **Sansa** : plus, the more your friends or acquaintances see us together, the bigger the chances are that nobody will pay attention to your love life later on
> 
> **Sansa** : i mean, when our fake relationship will end
> 
> **Sansa** : so, if we will come together it will work as a benefit 
> 
> **Sansa** : for you
> 
> **You** : Hmm
> 
> **Sansa** : and for me too
> 
> **Sansa** : you’re my boyfriend, so you should treat your girlfriend and buy her a tasty dinner
> 
> **Sansa** : :D :D :D
> 
> **You** : I should have seen it coming
> 
> **You** : Fine, I’ll be there in about twenty minutes
> 
> **Sansa** : sweet!
> 
>   
> **Sansa** : see you! :3

Sandor sighed and searched for Bronn’s number in his contact list.

“Yes?” the speaker answered with Jaime’s voice.

“I suppose Bronn is a wasted man already,” Sandor mumbled.

“Not really, he just went to get himself some sandwiches.”

“Whatever,” Sandor shrugged. “Listen, I just wanted to check with you - will it be okay if my girlfriend joins us tonight?”

There was silence on the other side of the line and Sandor started to suspect that Jaime was against someone else joining their little company. But then there was a cough, and Jaime came back to life.

“Sandor, you aren’t ill, right?”

“Of course I’m not,” Sandor answered.

“Good,” Jaime laughed. “It’s just a little bit strange - you were hiding your girlfriend from us for years, and now suddenly you changed your mind and want to bring her to the pub.”

“Well, if you are against it, then…”

“Oh no, Sandor,” Jaime cut him off. “Me and Bronn will be very flattered to finally meet the person you are cooing over for ages.”

“I’m not _cooing_ ,” Sandor grunted. “I don't coo over anyone.”

“Yeah, of course,” Jaime laughed, sounding unimpressed. “Well, anyway - take your girlfriend and come to us. It really will be a honour to finally meet her, and you know I am not kidding.”

“Aye, see you,” Sandor sighed and hung up.

Somewhere inside he was not really sure if this gathering was a good idea at all, but could try to make things work for sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Headless Northman"... I'm so sorry, Ned...
> 
> it's time to go deeper...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I need to make a confession, I like to write chapters where nothing's happening and characters are just t a l k i n g...
> 
> And the summary of the chapter is:  
>  _Anyway, how's your sex life?_  
>  (c)

Sansa was already waiting for him next to the entrance. She was wearing a warm jacket today, half of her face hidden under a thick scarf. She was typing something on her phone, making short pauses to breath on her hands. It was quite cold this evening, Sandor himself had already regretted wearing just a shirt under his jacket.

When he approached, Sansa tilted her head and spotted him straight away - well, it wasn’t a difficult task to find a man of more than six feet tall dude in the crowd, but it was Sansa’s smile which puzzled him a little bit.

“Sandor!” she beamed, locking her phone and putting it into her jacket’s pocket. “You'ŗe finally here.”

“I told you it will be twenty minutes,” he grumbled. “And I made it just in time.”

“Oh, no worries,” Sansa waved her hand. “I’m not complaining or anything. It’s just really nice to see you. So, did you tell your friends I will be joining you this afternoon?”

“I did,” Sandor nodded. “Jaime said it will be a _honour_ to meet you.”

“Well, of course they are looking forward to meet me,” Sansa snorted. “You’ve been feeding them your sweet lies about your sweet girlfriend for almost two years.”

“I wouldn’t say these were the lies,” Sandor mumbled, somehow ashamed. “Just some stories so they wouldn’t waste their time and everyone will be at peace, including me as well.”

“Don’t worry,” Sansa laughed and elbowed him in the side. “I’m just joking. So, how do you think we should act in front of your friends?”

“No idea,” Sandor shrugged. “I went on not so many dates during my life.”

“The same with me,” Sansa sighed. “Well, we just need to decide what type of couple we are: the reserved one, so we won’t be even touching each other in front of the others, or the calm one - I mean, it doesn’t mean we need to sit calm or something, we can hold hands or pat each other on the shoulder from time to time. or something like that.”

“So the choice is between these two options?”

“Yes,” Sansa nodded. “Well, there some other options, of course, but I don’t think that we could be a _sitting-on-your-lap-and-trying-to-touch-your-tonsils-with-my-tongue_ type, right?”

“I bet that’s what Bronn is expecting to see tonight,” Sandor smirked. “But fuck no. Anyway, let’s just act normally and that’s all.”

“But some touching will be required, I suppose,” Sansa shrugged, her scarf slided down, showing her red from the cold lips. “Otherwise we won’t look like a _couple_.”

“I guess touching won’t hurt these buggers,” Sandor agreed and offered his right hand. “Let’s go?”

Sansa nodded and grabbed his palm in hers. Her fingers were cold and kind of calloused, Sandor wondered was it because of the weather or her sewing, but decided not to ask.

They entered lively pub, hand to hand. Sandor didn’t want to think how comically they probably seemed in the eyes of the others, a pretty elegant lass and _him_ , but Sansa was already chirping happily with the pub worker.

“And we are here to see our friends,” she said, squeezing Sandor’s palm. “So we won’t need need a spare table, thank you.”

Sandor looked around, scanning the crowded pub with his eyes, until he finally spotted Jaime’s blond hair somewhere near the window.

“Let’s go,” he mumbled, nervously squeezing Sansa’s tiny hand even harder. 

She understood his nervousness and smiled reassuringly, patting his palm with her thumb.

“Don’t worry, Sandor,” she chirped again, this time quietly. “Let’s just relax and enjoy our time, alright?”

“Right,” Sandor grumbled, but didn’t ease his grip. Luckily, Sansa didn’t protest, she knew he was nervous their little play could be exposed - and thanks god she was completely on his side.

Sandor led both of them to the table, very carefully making the way between drunken companies, until they finally were next to his friends. Both Bronn and Jaime were staring at their phones, so Sandor had to cough loudly to get their attention. 

“Well, hello,” Sandor said, feeling the soothing touch of Sansa’s thumb.

“Hello, beauty,” Bronn grinned, looking at Sansa. “So, we are finally seeing you here in flesh - which makes me a little bit nervous the judgement day is coming instead of Christmas this year.”

“Oh, shut up,” Jaime laughed and turned on his chair to face him and Sansa. “Hello, dear friend. It’s nice to finally see you not hiding somewhere in your flat.”

Now it was Sansa’s turn to squeeze his hand tightly, Sandor even felt her nails to sink into his palm just a little bit. Well, so she _was_ nervous too.

“Yeah, nice to see you not hiding somewhere in France too,” he laughed, making his way to the side and bringing the chair out so Sansa could seat herself.

Sansa, however, was clinging into his hand, her nails still sunk into his skin, and staring at his friends - more at Jaime, of course, and Sandor felt a spark of irritation appearing in his mind. The fuck, she was to act as if she was _his girlfriend_ , not to stare at the buggering Jaime Lannister as if he was a Greek god with golden locks. Well, maybe he looked like an ancient god and had a pretty face, but he was a married man now, and none of the women could have a chance to seduce him, taking into account Jaime’s crazy devotion to his wife.

“Take a sit,” he whispered into Sansa’s ear, grabbing a chair for himself from the empty table next to them.

Sansa flinched, as if she waken out of a trance, and looked at Sandor - the unreadable expression from the first day in her eyes again.

“Okay,” she chirped, but that time her voice was blank.

“I think we scared your pretty girlfriend,” Bronn sighed, dragging his pint closer and staring at Sansa. “I’m Bronn, by the way. No need for titles or anything else, just Bronn.”

“And I’m Jaime,” his other friend stood on his feet and extended his hand for a handshake. “Jaime Tarth.”

Sansa cocked her eyebrow, looking at Jaime with some sort of distrust, but shook his hand anyway.

“Let’s raise our pints for the man who changed his last name after the marriage,” Bronn chuckled.

“I’m Sansa,” the lass said. “Umm, Sansa…”

“Sansa Clegane,” Bronn japed with a wide grin. “Oh, that has a nice ring, by the way.”

“Whatever,” Sandor grumbled, taking his jacket and hanging it on the back of his chair.

“You’re rushing things,” Sansa answered with a _polite_ smile.

“Maybe I do,” Bronn shrugged. “But who the hell knows what is happening between two of you, especially after Sandor was hiding you from us for that long - come on, maybe you are already married and just not telling us.”

“Don’t worry,” Jaime smacked his shoulder. “I’m more than sure Sandor will invite us for his wedding, right, Sandor?”

“I’ll consider it if both of you won’t be annoying my girlfriend,” Sandor grumbled and turned to Sansa. “I’m off to the counter, what do you want for tonight?”

“Beef lasagna and diet coke,” she shrugged. “Or maybe the normal one will work better.”

“Supporting healthy lifestyle, eh?” Bronn winked.  
  


“You definitely should take after Sansa,” Sandor snorted, grabbing his wallet and retreating.

He got himself a pint of beer - considering his sizes, one pint usually didn’t have any proper effect on him or his mind, so he had to be fine tomorrow morning. He ordered Sansa’s lasagna, grabbed his beer and her coke, and went back to the table.

The first thing he noticed was Sansa’s expression - she managed to relax a little bit and was now listening to Jaime’s vivid story about something. Well, it was much better to see her calm and without any emotion Sandor wasn’t able to read. He put her coke in front of her and sat on his chair, moving it a bit nearer to hers - they were a goddamn couple, after all, and Sandor always saw happy couples sitting really close to each other.

“Thank you, Sandor,” she tilted her head and smiled. Well, she didn’t mind him sitting closer to her, it was a good start. 

“They’ll bring your lasagna shortly,” he mumbled, feeling a bit awkward. Usually at this part happy couples were kissing or doing any other shit which made Sandor sick just looking at something like this in public.

Instead, he took her hand in his and clumsily caressed her wrist. Sansa lowered her eyes and sighed a bit dreamily.

It was quite difficult to imagine any woman to sigh _dreamily_ because of _him_ , but Sansa was doing her part very well.

“Jaime was telling her how the run away from his damned family,” Bronn laughed, most probably to distract them from showing their affection on public. “You know, a little story to cheer someone up.”

“I’m sure escaping the Lannisters is a very cheerful subject,” Sandor replied, but didn’t let Sansa’s hand go.

“Oh, it definitely is,” Sansa smiled.

“And Baratheons too,” Jaime snorted. “No, you can’t even imagine how amazing it was to run away from all these posh bastards with their noses in air - well, with some exceptions, of course, but still.”

“I bet you could count all these exceptions just on your fingers,” Sandor shrugged. “On the fingers of your left hand.”

“Exactly,” Jaime bursted out in laughter. “I mean, Tyrion, Tommen and Myrcella on the Lannister side, and then Stannis and Renly on the other - and that’s exactly five bloody fingers.”

“You see,” Bronn raised his index finger. “The higher forces gave you exact number of your decent relatives and relatives-in-law you could count on your fingers.”

“Fuck off,” Jaime laughed even harder. “My prosthetic hand is so good I could ask your higher forces to give me more decent relatives so I could count them with all ten. By the way,” he turned to Sandor’s side, moving his chair a little bit so the waitress could bring Sansa her lasagna. “How is old good Stannis doing?”

“Not bad,” Sandor grumbled. “Made me to, as you’re usually saying, get out of my hermitage, so you can be proud of him.”

“And to finally show us your pretty girlfriend,” Bronn beamed and took a mouthful of beer. “Fuck, Sandor, how have you even dared to hide such beauty from us?”

“Private life is called so because of reasons, you see,” Sandor shrugged. Sansa put away her fork and made a melodious laugh.

“I see, so you _are_ sharing the same sense of humour after all,” Bronn nodded. “No, listen, Sandor, you _are_ a lucky bastard.”

“I am lucky too,” Jaime beamed.

“So am I,” Sansa smiled, moving just a little bit closer to Sandor, so they shoulders were touching.

Bronn snorted loudly.

“I can imagine,” he mumbled. “Women always like _huge_ men, if you know what I mean.”

“Fuck off, Bronn,” Sandor smiled _politely_ , just in the same way as Sansa did earlier.

“Oh no,” Bronn snorted. “We finally have your girlfriend here, and after two years of your super secret dating everyone has questions. So, tell us, Sansa, is our dear huge and scary nerd good in bed?”

Sandor muttered through clenched something what sounded like _fckyoubronnjustfckyoueverywhere_ , but Sansa stayed calm. More than that, her expression became quite thoughtful, as if she was trying to come up with an answer.

“Well, let’s say,” she _smirked_. “No one could withstand him in this matter.”

Sandor choked on his beer, coughing. So did Jaime, and Sansa was just sitting there looking proud of herself.

“Well, he definitely must be _better_ than thousands of men, considering his size,” Bronn was still laughing, drunk as hell. “I bet such a beauty like yourself could easily draw comparisons, am I right?”

“Wrong,” Sansa shrugged. “Don’t have anyone to compare Sandor with.”

Oh, that was a blatant lie, Sandor thought. Not a one woman in this world would willingly have her first sexual experience with an ugly fuck like him. It sounded too unrealistic, but both Bronn and Jaime seemed to believe her anyway. Sometimes Sandor was thinking his friends were total fools, and at the times like this his suspicions just were growing stronger.

“Then how can you be so sure nobody could be better than him?” Bronn continued his investigation.

“I’m just _sure_ ,” Sansa shrugged again and suddenly clinged to him, almost laying her head on his shoulder. Now they were looking like a perfect couple indeed.

“But _still_ ,” Bronn started again, and Sandor cut him, coughing loudly.

“Maybe we could try to discuss something else than our _private_ life?” he offered peacefully, and Sansa giggled as if she was a little bit tipsy - though Sandor was more than sure she didn’t touch any alcohol tonight.

“Yeah,” Jaime agreed. “Moreover, I need to share some news with all of you.”

“What news?” Bronn asked not without interest. Sansa, who returned to her meal, had to put the fork aside again.

“Brienne is pregnant!” Jaime beamed with the widest grin Sandor ever seen in his life.

"Oh,congratulations!" Sansa finally pulled away from him, clapping her hands.

"That's a nice one," Bronn nodded cheerfully and Sandor just shook Jaime's hand. 

"Do you know who it will be?" Sansa sounded really interested in the new subject of their conversation. Well, even if Sandor wasn't a big fan of kids it was much better to discuss the pregnancy of Jaime's wife than his non-existent sex life.

"It's still early to tell," Jaime scratched his chin. “Brienne wants a boy for sure, but I kind of hope it will be a girl. You know, a little princess we could cherish and protect.”

“Of course you want to get someone you could protect,” Bronn laughed. “Especially considering the fact your wife is the one who could protect both you and herself easily.”

“It’s not about it,” Jaime shook his head, not taking friend’s words too seriously. “But I think it’s normal when fathers want to have a little daughter, and mothers hope to give a birth to a son.”

“Hundreds years ago your words would be considered a treason,” Bronn chuckled. “I mean, imagine both you and Brienne live in a buggering medieval times, and she keeps giving birth to more and more girls - so, would you, a lord or just a master the house, be happy to realise that there’s no one to become your heir?”

“I’d still be happy enough,” Jaime insisted. “I mean, daughters are a blessing.”

“But then after your death all your lands or just simple possessions would kind of disappear with some help of your neighbours and friends, and maybe even enemies,” Sansa chirped in. “Like, your daughters wouldn’t be able to lay a finger on the things you left as the society considered them being a _possession_ of their husbands who didn’t have any rights to inherit anything you left.”

“Whatever,” Jaime shrugged. “And hey, we are living in the twenty first century, not in the stupid medieval period, so I don’t care. I want a daughter!”

“And what about you, guys?” Bronn smirked and looked at Sandor and Sansa. “Daughters or sons?”

“Both”, Sandor said without thinking.

Sansa echoed the same word, and both Bronn and Jaime grinned again.

“Alright, I got it,” Bronn put his hands up as if in surrender. “You’re too perfect for each other it hurts.”

“Why should it hurt?” Sansa cocked her head in a puzzlement.

“Because you’re too sweet and it makes my teeth ache,” Bronn snorted. Sansa laughed at his response, and it was a sincere laugh - Sandor had to admit it sounded quite beautiful when she was expressing her _real_ emotions and not pretending for the sake of their play.

“Just get yourself a decent dentist then,” he grumbled, taking his pint and gulping almost a half of the remaining beer.

“Don’t do such vulgar things in front of your delicate girlfriend,” Bronn shook his head in a comical disapproval.

“I don’t mind,” Sansa shrugged. “After all, Sandor’s my boyfriend, so I need to accept all his vicious habits - well, II am _trying_ to change some of them, of course, but still.”

Bronn laughed at her response and said something in return, but Sandor didn’t really pay attention to it. His mind was turning around Sansa’s words of acceptance - the only thing he ever wanted from another person in his life. Well, it had to be mentioned that Sandor was ready for the changes, and he _could_ change if someone asked him - but first they had to accept him, which had never happened in his life. Yes, he had his friends, who now were sitting next to him and making stupid jokes from time to time, he had his colleagues, he even had a person in his life to whom he could come and talk about anything - but never in his life he was accepted by a _woman_.

When he was a boy, his mother told him that to make any relationship work there had to be a huge work done from both people, and it wasn’t only about love - friendship, as Sandor learned through the years, worked in the same way. Anyway, Sandor embraced his mother’s words and always tried to act accordingly, but there was a small issue which was making all girls (and later women) to pretend they were interested in Sandor, and this small issue was called Gregor Clegane.

Alright, not Gregor himself - but the result of his perfect work of making Sandor miserable, which was seen on Sandor’s right side of the face since he was about six. He had his oozing scars, and usually girls or women were turned off because of them. Sandor tried to date couple of lasses in his life, was always ready to be there for them, to shower them in presents and do anything what will be needed - but there was his face. And because of this face he had to go on a dates where women were pretending his was just their _friend_ , and he was never able to kiss any of those girls, and on top of that was the fact that they were consenting to have sex with him only from behind. And again it was just sex - no kissing, no foreplay, nothing which could suggest the possibility of his face getting into the contact with their bodies.

That’s why in the end Sandor decided that jerking off alone was much better than sex - the process was all the same, but at least his hand wasn’t making disgusting faces when getting nearby his face.

And he was almost okay with it, but somewhere inside he still was hoping that one day someone will appear in his life and accept him. His rude behaviour, his nerdy interests, his buggering face. Sandor shook his head and cursed quietly, so nobody could understand. Sansa’s words stung to the quick and Sandor didn’t like it.

“I need to leave soon,” he announced, finishing his beer. “Unlike both of you,” he bowed in the direction of Bronn and Jaime. “I have a work tomorrow.”

“Ugh, me too, then,” Sansa smiled. “My supervisor asked me to take an extra shift tomorrow.”

“I’ll walk you home,” Sandor mumbled instantly, and she nodded.

“I think it’s time for all of us to go,” Jaime yawned. “We have an early train to Plymouth tomorrow, so I hope to get at least some sleep.”

“Good,” Bronn nodded. “Then I’ll be going too.”

Sansa was already on her feet, her jacket and scarf put on. She was doing those simple actions so quickly every time that Sandor wasn’t even able to notice - therefore he was missing his chance to play a role of an attentive boyfriend and help her with her jacket. He stood up and put his coat on and Sansa grabbed his _left_ hand instantly, showing she was ready to go.

“I’ll see you guys later,” Sandor bowed, and Sansa waved her hand with a smile.

“Have a _great_ night, you two,” Bronn snorted. Jaime just chuckled to this remark.

Sandor made a face and walked towards the exit, Sansa’s tiny hand in his.

“So, where do you live?” he asked when they were outside.

“Just couple of minutes from here,” she showed the direction with her right hand. “Just need to reach the traffic lights and then walk through the park - and then there will be my apartment block.”

“I’ll walk you,” Sandor nodded.

Sansa looked as if she wanted to protest, but then just nodded and out her scarf a bit higher to cover her lips and nose.

“They’re getting calloused on cold,” she explained, catching Sandor’s glance.

“Then it’s a smart move from you.”

“Of course,” Sansa chuckled. “Oh, Sandor, I just wanted to ask something about your friends, can I?”

“Do you want to know why they are such idiots?”

“Not really,” Sansa laughed. “Well, I was kind of interested to find out how you know both of them.”

Sandor shrugged.

“Nothing too special. With Bronn we met each other years ago in the University, and then Jaime became the part of our little company about six years ago - exactly after he run away and cut almost all connections to his family.”

“And how did you meet him?”

“He joined us at our previous workplace,” Sandor grumbled. “Lass, that’s way too much questions about the married man, you know?”

“I didn’t mean anything like that,” Sansa shook her head, but it looked more like it was her scarf which was moving. “Just wanted to know the story behind your friendship. Well, and wanted to understand how did you end up being friends with the ex-heir of one of the most powerful families of British Establishment.”

“That’s the point,” Sandor snorted. “He’s the _ex_ -heir, and that what made our friendship possible. Otherwise, I wouldn’t even come near him or his family - I mean, I definitely have nothing to do with all those posh rich buggers.”

“Guess you’re right,” Sansa said with a sigh, but there was a smile on her face. “Well, I need to say, it was rather nice evening.”

“Even with my stupid friends and their indecent jokes?”

  
“That is exactly what made this evening even funnier,” Sansa giggled with some kind of mischief. “I bet my mum would be in shock if she learned I spent time in a pub in a company of not too familiar men and joking about some _indecent_ things,” she giggled again, now even louder.

Sandor chuckled at her behaviour. Sometimes Sansa was acting if she was just a mere teenager.

“You know,” she said after she was done with her laughing. “Sometimes it’s really refreshing to do something indecent.”

She said it in a serious tone, but her eyes were full of the sparkles of fun.

“Then you should hang out with Bronn more often,” Sandor snorted.

Sansa wanted to say something, but then she suddenly stopped and clicked her tongue.

“Well,” she waved her left hand in the direction of a building nearby, and only now Sandor realised they still were holding hands. “I’m kind of home.”

Sandor gently let her go and stepped back.

“So,” he started, burying his hands in the pockets of his coat. “The party is already on Saturday - do you think we are okay now?”

“You mean - to pretend we are a happy couple?”

Sandor nodded, and Sansa made a thoughtful face.

“I guess we are,” she answered after some moments. “More or less.”

“Then we will see each other on Saturday?” Sandor asked, suddenly feeling some sort of grudge inside.

“Probably,” Sansa nodded. “But hey, we will keep in touch anyway, so if something will come up I’ll let you know. Fine?”

“Fine,” Sandor nodded. “Sleep well, Sansa.”

“You too,” her smile was not the funny one this time. It was much calmer and much warmer, and it reached her eyes anyway. “But I hope to see you before the party.”

“Who knows,” Sandor shrugged and waved his hand.

He made some steps away until he stopped and turned around. Sansa’s slim figure was quickly moving towards the entrance door. Sandor followed her with his eyes, just making sure there won’t be any harm done to her, and as soon as she was inside he sighed and walked away. He had to go home where he belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meanwhile, the Christmas party is approaching...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey, I'm going to write a nice Christmas-themed fanfic full of fluff, and joy, and warmth, and oooooooops my hand just slipped...

Sansa was sitting next to him, her tiny hand in his. She was smiling, and the gown she made was making this smile even prettier. The dark lighting of the venue was hiding from him some of her features, but Sandor was _sure_ her smile was pretty.

His colleagues were enjoying themselves somewhere nearby, all dressed into medieval costumes they made for this party or simply bought online, and at some points of the evening he was dragged to the dancing area by Sansa, who was laughing and helping him to overcome his insecurities - well, Sandor was a really shitty dancer, that’s for sure. And his armour was making his movements clumsy, but Sansa didn’t pay too much attention to it. She was enjoying herself, and she was helping _Sandor_ to enjoy himself.

“Let’s go and dance again!” Sansa beamed, bumping Sandor’s shoulder with hers.

“Sure,” he nodded and helped her to get out of the table.

What Sandor had learned about her tonight was that Sansa definitely felt herself on the dancing floor in her element. She knew how to move to the sounds of old medieval tunes, and she was wearing her heavy but pretty dress with some sort of pride, and all the time she was smiling, her chin up. Just as if she was a real medieval lady who had suddenly appeared in his life to join him for this bloody party.

“You may now kiss your bride,” Stannis, who was wearing a robe of some medieval monk, appeared in front of them, his palms clasped in front of him

Everyone turned to their side and started to applaud and Sandor wanted to protest, after all he and Sansa weren’t actually dating, it all was just a mere play - but Stannis was his boss, so Sandor had to obey.

Well, he thought, maybe marrying Sansa wasn’t a bad thing, after all she was a nice lass and shared almost all his interests and views, and both of them wanted to have a son and a daughter in the future, so yes, maybe Stannis was suggesting the best solution for his future.

Sandor felt his mouth moving in a wide smile as he turned to Sansa and out his hand on her shoulder.

“Ew,” said Sansa and wrinkled her pretty nose. “I don’t want to kiss him, his face is _awful_.”

“Sansa?” he whispered in shock, trying to make a step back, to get away from her - but bumped into the huge wall straight away.

“His scars are so ugly I’m becoming sick,” Sansa stuck her tongue out in an utter disgust. “How can any woman want to date him?”

“But you were dating him, right?” Stannis asked, looking at Sandor with an apparent judgement. “Did he force you to anything?”

“He forced me to pretend I am his girlfriend,” Sansa spat. “And even pretending that I like him was so awful I want to forget it like a nightmare.”

“You should wed Jaime Lannister then,” Stannis agreed. “At least he is as beautiful as you are.”

“Thank you, ser,” Sansa made a courtsey and waved her hand at Sandor’s side. “But please, take him away, I can’t even breath when this monster is around me.”

Stannis made a sign with his finger and Sandor was suddenly taken away by two men in medieval armour. They made no bones about him, grabbing him by his hands and shoulders and throat, and at some point Sandor started to suffocate without breathing.

“ _Sansa_ ,” he choked on his breath, trying to pull out from the tight grip of the guards, to scream her name, to save him - even if she thought he was a disgusting monster.

Sandor squinted, made another attempt to move away from those buggering guards - and woke up.

He was lying in his bed, his breath fast, his forehead wet from sweat. Stranger was peacefully sleeping on his chest, he was wagging his tail in sleep, hitting Sandor’s face from time to time and probably that was what he felt while being strangled in his nightmare.

Sandor exhaled loudly, wiping the sweat with his palm. He haven’t had any nightmares for ages, and somehow the fact that now, after he had already reached thirty couple of years ago, he was still weak while facing the bad dream.

He carefully put Stranger on the spare pillow, got up on his feet and stumped to the kitchen, his body still weak from the sleep.

He poured himself a huge cup of fresh water and added some ice too. He was still sweating and it was a middle of December, but Sandor didn’t really care. He needed to have a refreshing drink and he would have it right now, even if tomorrow his throat will be aching as fuck.

Sandor finished the water just in couple of large gulps and poured himself some more. Maybe some beer would work better and rinse the memories of the nightmare much faster than the water, but he had a half-day shift tomorrow, and unfortunately his half started at nine in the morning.

When the second cup was empty as well, Sandor quickly rinsed it and put away in the cupboard, He stretched his hands, yawning, and decided to get some more sleep. Or at least to try. Years ago the nightmares were making him awake for the rest of the night, but Sandor didn’t really mind. He was young, he could spend all night in front of the screen and then go to his classes or his job feeling himself refreshed after the can of an energy drink - well, he wasn’t an old man now, of course, but he was _thirty three_ . Podrick the receptionist told him once that human’s body started to age after person was turning twenty five, and that meant Sandor was a doddering piece of shit already. And he _needed_ that buggering sleep.

His bed was kind of wet from his sweat, and Sandor rolled to the other side, thanking himself for putting the second pillow. He had to move Stranger again, and of course his ragdoll woke up and started to express his disappointment in a very loud way. Sandor spent some time on scratching his chin and behind the ear until Stranger was quietly snoring again. And by that time Sandor realised he wasn’t sleepy anymore.

He turned on the other side, closing his eyes and trying to count the sheeps, but instead of the white fluffy animals his mind started to put off the images from his latest nightmare, and Sandor rolled on his back, cursing loudly.

He was having so many nightmares in the past, all of them full of Gregor, of the smacked car with his parents’ and sister’s bodies, of the horrible smell of burnt skin and hair, and of that time he was caught by the police. All these nightmares were terrifying, but there was a reason Sandor was seeing them, and he was ready to admit that he, a huge and strong man, was meeting the worst moments of his past while sleeping. After all, it was quite normal for anyone who had some sort of feelings to live through these things again, luckily in their dreams only.

But he never had a bad dream when he was _dumped by a woman_. Yes, he experienced this shit too many times in his real life, but even after the worst breakout he had in his young days Sandor had a peaceful and somehow even calm dream. He feared of another possibility to be thrown away by someone else, but this fear was living only when Sandor was awake, but somehow it had finally creeped in his dreams. And all because of Sansa.

Sansa Godknowsherlastname was a pretty and polite girl, too sweet and too precious for a man like him. She was considering him as a friend and a partner in crime, and Sandor was returning these feelings. Since their first meeting he was able to get to know her much better than when they were just two userpics on the screen, and in the end he came to the conclusion that even after the buggering Christmas party he would like to stay friends with her. Sandor had no idea what was on Sansa’s mind regarding this matter, but he really wanted to ask her about it - but only when they will be done with their pretending.

He knew Sansa much better than before now - and he was sure she would never act like she did in his nightmare. She never paid too much attention to his face and scars, it was even other way around - she was somehow fascinating with them, saying that Sandor looked _stunning_ , with all his nasty scars and his body type. Well, she never called them _nasty_ , it was what Sandor was adding inside his head, but yes, Sansa wasn’t scared of him. And when they were walking somewhere she was by his left side almost all the time, as if she was trying to tell the others that she, his _girlfriend_ , liked him with all his scars and imperfections.

Maybe if she _was_ his girlfriend she would act the same, Sandor didn’t know about it, but still, she would never call his scars awful. She would never call him a _monster_.

It was just a nightmare, Sandor told himself, closing his eyes. Sansa is not your bride and she isn’t a cold-hearted bitch anyway. She is nice, and pretty, and soft, and full of compassion. She could never _ever_ say anything like this to him, boyfriend or not. That’s what Sandor was sure about it.

And that’s why he was having this nightmare, all his insecurities and fears bared and voiced by the only person who accepted him in some way. It was just a nightmare, but it awoke so many bad memories and feelings, and now Sandor was really scared he could go and mess everything up during the party tomorrow. 

If he’d mess thing up, Sansa would be sad, a tiny voice inside his head whispered. Sandor sighed. Well, it was already Friday night, his last shift of this year will finish around the lunchtime. He will have enough time to deal with the monsters in his head. And then he will be free, and the Christmas party won’t be marred by his grumpy and rough behaviour which had a stupid tendency to crash out every time Sandor had his nightmares in the past. And if everything will go well, their play will go smoothly and sweet, and Sansa will be happy too. And that what Sandor was kind of looking forward to.

But now - now he just needed to get some sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elder Brother's name is taken from the TV show (even if I dropped it after season 4 lol), and last name is a reference. Because he is _Elder_ Brother, you see...

“Hello,” Sandor mumbled awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I am here to see the priest.”

“You had to book your confession time in advance, young man,” the old lady, probably a parish administrator, eyed him from head to foot. “It’s almost Christmas and the priest could be busy.”

“But he isn’t, right?” Sandor sighed.

“Young man,” the lady cut him off. “You should follow the common rules.”

“But if I have an urgent confession to make, then what?” Sandor objected. “Will you make me suffer if the sin I committed is making me miserable?”

“If the sin you committed is making you miserable I’d suggest you visit the police station, not the church.”

Sandor groaned in disappointment.

“Alright, alright,” he snorted. “Please, just tell Rev’d Raymond it’s Sandor Clegane here.”

The old lady pouted, probably thinking about the ungrateful youth, but went away to look for the priest. Sandor looked around and then seated himself on the nearest bench.

He wasn’t a religious man, oh, not at all. But here, in a tiny church in East London, Sandor was always welcomed for a talk by the local priest, so he had visited this place from time to time. Not to pray, but to leave this place equally calmed down and with some tiny hope.

The Reverend Raymond Price was the man who had helped Sandor not to waste his life many years ago. After the death of almost all members of his family in an accident, Sandor officially went under custody of his elder brother, which basically meant his life was in his own hands. Gregor didn’t give any fuck about his brother’s life and future, he was more focused on himself and his attempts to get their borough under the control of his gang. At some point he even tried to make Sandor work for him too, and it was exactly the moment when Sandor started to skip his schools and spent nights in any possible places which weren’t home.

He didn’t want to engage himself into any criminal shit, and being as far from Gregor as it was possible helped - but at some point he had to try to steal some food from the local shop. It didn’t work and the security guys called the police, so that Sandor could answer for his actions properly. He was taken to the police station, got a talk from a PC, and when the truth about his family situation emerged, he was about to be sent to the orphanage - and then the Rev’d Raymond appeared. He was at the station to discuss something about his parish, but heard Sandor’s story - and offered to take him under patronage. After all, the parish was looked after by a bunch of elderly people, and asking Sandor to help in return was a very useful option. Sandor didn’t have any opinion about the church, religion, and all other shit, but he shrugged and agreed. After all, it was much better than staying with Gregor.

And then his life finally started to get some bright colours. Gregor was taken under arrest, Sandor, who was turning sixteen in the next month, was taken care of for a while, he finally was able to attend his schools as a normal student, and there was no more need to hide and spend his nights on the streets. Well, in return he received hours of long and boring talks about what was right and wrong from the Rev’d Raymond, but at some point Sandor, who still was disengaged from the spiritual things, started to answer to the priest, discuss with him some things, sometimes even argue. When he turned eighteen, he finally was able to move back to his place, but the Rev’d Raymond was asking him to come and help at the parish from time to time, which Sandor was happy to do. He lived just couple of streets down, and he needed to have someone in his life he could come and talk to when it was important for him. He didn’t have his parents, his brother was a huge piece of rubbish, and there was no friend he could rely on - so the priest of his local church became his lifesaver.

When Sandor sold his family house and moved to the flat near city centre, he still kept in touch with the priest. And even after he started to socialise more and found himself good friends, it was the Rev’d Raymond whom he would see when he needed to talk about important changes or issues in his life. Just because he knew, he could come and spit any trouble on his mind, and he would never be judged in return.

So that’s why he was sitting on the bench in a quiet church, drumming his fingers on his knee. But he needed this talk, otherwise he would let his fears to win over and mess everything during the upcoming Christmas party.

“Sandor?”

Oh, right. He almost forgot that the Rev’d Raymond had a shitty habit to appear next to him out of nowhere.

“Um, hello,” he said, getting on his feet and extending his hand for a handshake.

“Mary told me you are here for a confession,” Raymond was looking with him with some sort of interest. “Told me it’s about a sin.”

“Well, not really,” grumbled Sandor. He sat down on the bench and the priest followed his example. “I just had to tell something which will make her to get you here quickly. And she told me to go to the police instead.”

“Forgive her,” Raymond waved his hand. “I don’t think she met you before so she wasn’t aware of your habit to appear out of nowhere and ask for the immediate confession.

“Well, that’s who I am,” Sandor snorted.

“Anyway,” the priest crossed his hands on his lap. “Tell me, what is it about.”

“Ugh,” Sandor shaded off straight away. “I don’t even know how to describe it… From your religious point I’ve sinned.”

“I know you very well, Sandor,” Raymond’s lips curled into a smile. “So I guess you hacked your gaming console to get a free stuff, but now are feeling some sort of embarrassment?”

“Oh come one,” Sandor groaned, trying not to pay much attention to the Reverend’s quiet chuckle. “I lied, okay? I made a huge lie and now am facing its consequences, and that’s what makes me uncomfortable.”

Raymond’s expression became more worried now.

“I hope it’s nothing to do with some criminal activities?” he asked, and Sandor just shook his head.

“Not at all. I’ve just lied to my friends I am dating a girl.”

“And?”

“And when everyone started to push on me, I had to ask one of my, um, friends to pretend she is the girl I am dating.”

“And?”

“And now I am having nightmares,” Sandor sighed. “And these are not the  _ usual  _ nightmares I used to have.”

“For example?” Raymond stroke his chin.

“I’m dreaming that this girl thinks I am a monster because of my looks,” Sandor mumbled. “I mean, I am used to get such comments in my real life, but Sansa… I mean, the girl I told I am dating - she is nothing like the women who were turning me down before. And she didn’t say anything about my face  _ at all _ . And I know she won’t say anything - but I still got this nightmare. And I lied. And now I’m afraid I could mess everything at the wrong time.”

“Alright, Sandor,” the Rev’d Raymond cleared his throat. “Let’s start from the beginning, fine?”

“Aye.”

“So you lied to your friends about your girlfriend. Why did you decide to do so?”

“So they would shut their fu… I mean, mouths and stop introducing me to some random ladies,” Sandor shrugged. “Because I am tired of any sort of relationships and just want to be alone.”

“And why couldn’t you just tell the same to your friends?”

“You think I didn’t?” Sandor laughed sadly. “I said the same things to them hundred of thousands times. But they didn’t give any shit about it.”

“Well, let’s assume so,” Raymond nodded. “But why then you asked the poor girl to help you and pretend she is your girlfriend?”

“Because my dear bloody boss wouldn’t allow me to attend the Christmas party without her,” Sandor sighed. “And I was looking towards this party for months. Well, luckily Sansa said she wanted to attend the same party very much, so she was ready to volunteer.”

“I see,” the Rev’d smiled. “And even if you know that she’s here just to help you, you’re still frightened she will reject you because of your looks?”

“We are not dating or anything,” Sandor corrected. “I’m just simply afraid she will reject my friendship after spending so much time next to my ugly mug. Especially after the party, where we will be expecting to snuggling and maybe even kissing - after all, we are a bloody  _ couple _ . And I am  _ pretty sure _ she will be disgusted even by the mention of it.”

“But did you ask this Sansa’s opinion on it?” Raymond asked.

“No.”

“So why do you think she will reject your, as you say, friendship after that?”

“Because she is a woman,” Sandor sighed. “A nice, delicate, and pretty woman - and lasses like her are  _ always  _ calling me names because of my looks.”

“Did she say anything about your scars before?”

“No. Well, actually, she did,” Sandor shrugged. “But it was said in some form of amazement, you know.”

“So why do you think she will be repulsed later? From what I understood, she happily volunteered to act as your girlfriend - so she had to know what can be expected from her. Sandor, I think you are making things up and your fears are sweeping.”

“And you encouraging both of us to proceed with our lies? That’s a sin, Rev’d Raymond!” Sandor’s laughter was almost a bark now. “And well, my fears aren’t sweeping ones - I told you I went through so many rejections that in the end I preferred to lie about my personal life. Just to stay away from another woman who will tell my face is making her sick.”

“You know, I was always sorry to hear about such experience of yours.”

“I know.”

“But still,” Raymond shrugged. “You need to talk to Sansa. It might be uncomfortable, but tell her about your past and your fears. Or simply ask her consent if you will have to hug her. Or to do anything else.”

“But she will get sick from me…”

“I doubt so,” the Rev’d Raymond smiled. “Besides, I can see that you are cherishing your, let’s say, friendship with this girl.”

“Because she’s a very nice lass,” Sandor chuckled sadly. “She is easy to talk to, she shares a handful of my interests, and she is just nice overall. Didn’t run away after meeting me for the first time in real life.”

“So that’s already a good sign. I think you really are overreacting, Sandor. Even if just for a little bit. Besides,” Raymond looked at him with some sort of curiosity. “Have you ever watched any romantic comedy about pretending relationships? You know, the ones they are always showing during the Christmas holidays.”

“You know I don’t like that sappy rubbish,” Sandor snorted.

“Too bad,” Raymond chuckled in a mischief. “Then you would know all these movies always have the same ending.”

“Which is?..”

“Spoilers,” the Rev’d raised his index finger in a didactic way. “Can’t tell you, otherwise you won’t learn anything from your actions. But I am sure you will like this ending very much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time - Christmas party is finally here  
> will it go smoothly or Sandor will mess it up?  
> vote now on your phones.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, not yet a party - just another instalment about Sandor, his low self-esteem, and the issues it's causing.  
> Or maybe not the issues...

“You look  _ gorgeous _ !” Sansa beamed, eyeing him from head to toe with an admiring stare. “Did you make this armour by yourself?”

“Aye,” Sandor rasped, feeling a bit uncomfortable. After all, he wasn’t used to the fact a young girl could admire him or his appearance. Even if he had already spent some time with Sansa before.

“That’s so awesome!” Sansa grinned. “I mean, I made myself a dress too, but I doubt the sewing is as hard as making an armour which looks like the real one,” she reached out her hand and touched the chest plate. “And which feels like the real one, too.”

“Well, it wasn’t so hard to do,” Sandor lied. It took him and Bronn almost a whole month to finish their convention outfits, which they were making between work and last exams in their University. It was a tough job, but in the end his armour resembled something like real medieval knights would wear.

“Do you know if they’re hosting any prize for the costume at the party?” Sansa asked.

“Don’t know,” Sandor shrugged. “I’m not even sure if the costume is a mandatory requirement to enter this party. Most probably Stannis wanted to set some kind of challenge for his employees and made us to wear all these dresses and armours.”

“Well, it still will be nice to see what the others came up with,” Sansa giggled.

“I bet me and Bronn will look like twins who were separated at their birth,” Sandor snorted.

“And you and me will look like a real medieval couple,” Sansa giggled. “The fair lady and her knight in shining armour.”

“Don’t think I would become a knight if I was living in the Middle Ages,” Sandor rasped. “And anyway, my outfit was made to make me look more like a character from the fantasy series.”

“Then I’ll be a princess from these series,” Sansa giggled. “And you will be a sellsword who is protecting her.”

“And that’s it?”

“And then they accidentally fell in love with each other,” Sansa clicked her tongue. “I bet your colleagues will like this type of story.”

“Speaking of my colleagues,” Sandor looked around, hoping nobody from his work is nearby. They were standing in front of the quiet coffee shop not so far away from the party venue, so there always was a chance they could be spotted - and Sandor didn’t want any of his colleagues to listen to his conversation with Sansa.

“Yes?” she asked, tugging his tunic’s sleeve.

“I mean, regarding our behaviour at the party,” Sandor sighed. “I thought I should talk to you before I can do something stupid during the even, which will expose our little play.”

“Don’t worry,” Sansa poked him in the ribs. “We will act the same as we did in the pub - I mean, we were sitting close to each other, and sometimes touching each other, and today we could even dance together - and everything will be alright.”

“I’m afraid my colleagues won’t believe us this way,” Sandor took a deep breath and started directly at Sansa. “Wontyoumindifillkissyoueventually?”

“Pardon?” Sansa narrowed her eyes.

“I mean,” Sandor cleared his throat. “They might expect us to show more affection to each other during the party. You know, something like kissing or stuff.”

“I wouldn’t like to go for the  _ stuff  _ in front of the others,” Sansa sticked out her tongue. “But kissing - why not?”

Sandor cleared his throat again, more loudly this time.

“And you won’t be repulsed or something?”

“Why should I be?” Sansa asked, sounding sincere. Apparently she  _ really  _ didn’t get his problem.

“Look at my mug,” Sandor sighed. “You know, not a pretty face women would like to see next to them if they will open their eyes in the middle of the kiss.”

“But I still don’t an issue,” Sansa pouted. “I mean, I am your  _ girlfriend _ , right? Which means I like everything about you, including your face. And it’s not a mug.”

“You are my girlfriend in front of the others,” Sandor groaned. “But the one who will have to kiss me won’t be my imaginable girlfriend, it will be  _ you _ . And honestly, I am afraid you could be repulsed, even if just for a little bit with my…”

“Stop it,” Sansa cut him off. “Sandor, I think I’ve told you before that your face _ is not ugly _ . And it isn’t a mug, so please don’t use this word while talking about yourself, alright?”

“Alright,” Sandor mumbled, definitely not expecting to receive such a scolding from her.

“And besides,” Sansa sighed. “It’s not about the looks, when you like someone - or just simply kiss. It’s about what is inside. Sometimes the owner of the prettiest face could be the biggest  _ cunt  _ in the whole world.”

“ _ Language _ , my lady Sansa,” Sandor burst into laughter. “Well, apparently you know what you are talking about, if you are using  _ such words _ .”

“Whatever,” Sansa waved her hand and sighed. “The main issue is that my kissing experience could be the reason your colleagues will find out we are pretending.”

“What do you mean?” Sandor frowned.

“I mean, we are dating for about two years - that’s what you told everyone, right?”

“Right,” he nodded.

“And imagine how strange it would look,” she sighed and averted her gaze. “If you are dating someone for such a long period, and I still haven’t learnt how to kiss properly.”

“Are you trying to tell me you don’t have any proper experience in it?” Sandor narrowed his eyes, trying to get any pitfall in her words or voice.

Sansa nodded, still not looking into his eyes.

“I know it’s quite strange for a woman of my age,” she mumbled. “But yeah, I can’t say I had any proper experience in this matter.”

“Well,” Sandor scratched the back of his neck. “We could go just for a brief kisses, right? Nothing too deep or indecent.”

“But will it be enough?” Sansa asked, finally looking at him, her cheeks reddened - probably from the cold wind. 

Well, they had to finish with this stupid matter and go to the venue as soon as it was possible.

“I’m sure it will be enough,” Sandor nodded. “Otherwise, I’ve got my sword with me too - anyone who would cast glances at my lady will get a decent punishment for their actions.”

“But these are just some glances,” Sansa giggled.

“Casting glances is also an action, so I don’t give a fuck, they are guilty.”

Sansa giggled again, and Sandor noticed she finally started to feel herself more freely. At least the restraint in her movements which was present since they met each other today had finally disappeared.

“So,” Sandor put a his left hand on his pommel and offered Sansa his free hand. “Should we finally join my colleagues - or, should I say, my brothers in arms? And everyone else, of course.”

“We should,” Sansa nodded but didn’t make any movement. “Ugh, Sandor?”

“Aye?”

“Could you please kiss me now?”

“ _ Pardon _ ?”

Sansa sighed again, her fingers rumpling her jacket.

“You know, for a rehearsal,” she giggled, but this time it sounded kind of nervously. “Because if you'll kiss me during the party without any warning, there is a chance I could look shocked or too surprised or something. It’s for our benefit, after all. Right?”

“Right,” Sandor nodded.

It still sounded quite ridiculous, but from the other hand, Sansa had a relevant point. If there was no chance for her to escape the kiss from a jerk with an ugly mu… face, she would better get used to it before doing it in front of the others.

“So,” Sansa said, making a step closer and closing her eyes.

_ Oh fuck _ , Sandor thought, while gently touching her cheek with his huge palm. The prettiest girl he knew was standing in front of him and waiting to be kissed, her eyelashes trembling and her lips slightly open. And he was about to kiss her now, the lucky bastard he was.

Well, not to  _ kiss _ , Sandor corrected himself. It was just a rehearsal of a quick peck he would give her while at the party, nothing else. So he moved his palm on her shoulder, leaned forward and finally put his lips on hers.

_ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. _

She smelled so sweet, like a fruit punch - probably it was because of her lipstick. And her lips were so warm and soft, and then Sansa moved her head a little bit and made a very muffled, but a  _ sound _ with her throat. Sandor felt his head starting to swim - so he quickly drew back, hoping she didn’t notice his nervousness.

Sansa giggled.

“But it wasn’t a  _ kiss _ ,” she objected, opening her eyes 

“I don’t think the buggers at the party will get something more than that,” Sandor hissed through the clenched teeth and shook his head. “Anyway, we rehearsed this stupid kiss, not let’s finish with that and go to the venue.”

“So now you are sure everything will go smoothly?” she asked, taking his hand and squeezing it with her delicate fingers.

“Aye,” Sandor nodded, averting his gaze. “You didn’t run away screaming after I kissed you, so I am  _ sure  _ everything will be fine.”

Sansa mumbled something about the hard work on Sandor’s self-esteem, but he didn’t really take it to heart. His head was still swimming, but it wasn’t the kiss which made his thoughts to run away and feel his body light from the warm feeling inside of his chest.

It was just a simple fact that there was at least one person in the whole world who wasn’t repulsed by him, and Sandor could bet it was the happiest moment of his whole miserable life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why can't i just simply go straight to the point...
> 
> ~~btw, i've made myself a tumblr. it's sad and empty, but i hope to post something there...  
>  https://gardakuka.tumblr.com/~~


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see from my fanfics, I really like Stannis :')  
> Oops that escalated quickly...

They were in the middle of the buggering Christmas party, and Sandor still haven’t messed something up. Unbelievable.

Sandor snorted, pouring himself some wine from the huge jug. Next to him, Sansa was cheerfully chatting with Bronn’s new girlfriend, feeling herself completely at ease. As Sandor predicted, Sansa was able to charm all his colleagues she had already met, and she was by his side all the time, acting as the most perfect girlfriend in this venue. She was sitting next to him, leaning to him from time to time, laughing at his jokes, and when it was announced that all guests were welcomed to the dance floor, she instantly dragged him out of the table.

“They are going to show us some proper medieval dances,” she giggled, already a bit tipsy after some glasses of wine.

“Don’t think I’m the best person for dancing,” Sandor grumbled, but let her to take him out of the table. After all, he wasn’t the only person in this venue who was a shitty dancer, poor Podrick’s face was the colour of a tomato when one of the girls from Sandor’s department dragged him to the dancing floor. Plus, there were other groups who came to celebrate their Christmas work parties at the same time, and each of them had at least one person who was clueless about what was happening on the dance floor, so Sandor even felt some sort of confidence despite his awkward movements.

Sansa, on the other hand, was moving as if her mother gave birth to her in between her classical dance lessons.

“Where did you learn how to control your body like this?” Sandor mumbled after another unsuccessful attempt to move his leg away and not to step on Sansa’s one.

“My mother was taking me to some dancing classes when I was in a primary school,” Sansa shrugged. “And it looks like I still remember something from those boring lessons.”

Sandor snorted. Maybe Sansa was calling her lessons boring, but she definitely enjoyed herself on the dancing floor. She quickly picked up all things they were shown, and then she was trying to teach him how to dance properly, what a bossy woman.

Dancing with Sansa was nice, she didn't mind his awkwardness and every time he stepped on her feet she was just laughing and teasing him. She was quite tall for a woman of her stature, but now, being literally in his hands made her look so tiny and fragile. At some points Sandor was scared he could unintentionally hurt her, so he tried his best to keep some distance between them, especially as it was required by the medieval dancing rules. Sansa however, was tipsy enough to lean to his chest at every possible occasion, so at some point Sandor announced they had enough of these dances and it was time for them to have some rest and food.

And now he was sitting next to Sansa, listening to her sweet voice and drinking one glass after another. Sandor wasn't a heavy drinker, his last wild party with loads of alcohol and other shit had happened when he was in the middle of hist first University year, but now he decided he was in a mood for a drink. Plus, the wine here was a decent one and, most importantly, it was for free. So he was pouring and pouring it into his glass, humming some sort of the tune to which he danced earlier, and Sansa's hand was on his hip, caressing it lightly.

Well, that's what girlfriends had to do to their boyfriends, right? 

_Right_ , Sandor decided while finishing another glass of his drink. And if it was right, he had to return this favour - it would be fair, and Sansa, a sweet soul she was, had earned something extra for her perfect acting.

But as soon as he moved his hand to Sansa's side, his boss suddenly appeared next to his seat.

"Excuse me, Sandor," Stannis said, clearing his throat. "But can I have you for a second?" 

Sandor nodded, moving his glass away and giving a quick peck at Sansa's cheek. She giggled drunkenly and finally set his hip free, turning back to Bronn's lass (what was her name again, Lola? Lolys?). Sandor got on his feet, giving Sansa a final pat, ruffling her hair up a little bit, and finally followed Stannis.

They went to the quiet hallway which was separated from the main area with some sort of screen. There were some benches, probably for people who became too tired from all the dancing and drinking, and Sandor wanted to seat himself on one if them. However, Stannis was still standing in front of him, so Sandor decided not to look foolish and disrespectful in front of his boss. 

"I'm listening?" he crossed his hands on his chest, eyeing Stannis with some confusion in his eyes. 

His boss wasn't wearing any monk or priest clothes, as it was in Sandor's dream. Stannis Baratheon arrived to the party in the outfit which made him to look like some sort of a king, he even had a crown on his head, decorated with some leaves and staghorns.

"Just a quick question regarding your girlfriend," Stannis said out of thin air.

Sandor blinked. Well, he was expecting to hear some disappointed talk about his drinking at the party (even though Sandor was still much sober than some of his colleagues, who drunk lesser amount of wine), or any other shit regarding his behaviour - but not a talk about Sansa.

"Are you trying to hit on her or what?" he groaned without thinking, feeling that there was an unknown feeling in his chest. The last time he felt something similar was when he was a kid and his parents were asking him to share something with Gregor. Not that Sandor was a greedy boy, but he knew that Gregor wouldn’t do similar thing for him, so the feeling of a hurt and something else was haunting Sandor instead of sleep.

“I have a wife and a daughter,” Stannis sniffed. “Are you out of your mind, Mr Clegane?”

“Then why do you want to talk about her?” Sandor gave him a squinted look. The feeling in his chest started to fade away slowly.

Stannis pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“Just wanted to learn how on the earth you two met each other.”

“I thought everyone heard this story for about hundred times,” Sandor snorted. “Like, as I said before, one she basically bumped into me on the street, and…”

“Oh no,” Stannis cut him off with an unreadable expression. “Not that tale. I’d like to hear the _real_ story.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You don’t usually bump into women like your girlfriend on the street,” Stannis shrugged. “So I would really like to hear how things happened in truth.”

“Are you doubting my relationship with Sansa?” Sandor grunted, starting to feel himself really uncomfortable.

What the hell, did Stannis somehow managed to find out they were pretending all evening long and now was about to kick both of them out of the venue?

“I’m not doubting your relationship at all,” Stannis shook his head. “After all, you two look too drown in each other only a fool will doubt the nature of what is happening between you and Sansa.”

“Ugh, thanks?” Sandor blurted.

“But anyway,” Stannis crossed his hands as if mirroring Sandor’s posture. “How did you two manage to meet?”

“Online,” Sandor admitted with a sigh.

“That sounds more believable,” Stannis nodded. “And you are dating for two years now, right?”

“Almost.”

“Almost,” Stannis nodded again. “Well, judging from how your behaviour, you have quite happy relationship.”

“I suppose,” Sandor shrugged uncomfortably. Somehow lying to Stannis was more difficult when it were just two of them in a room.

“Then good,” Stannis nodded again, clearly thinking about something else. “Take care of her, Sandor. I think she deserves her happiness.”

“I think so too,” Sandor answered, feeling a little bit irritated.

The sudden interest of his boss in his relationship with Sansa (well, not really a _relationship_ , but still) started to annoy him. Why on the earth Stannis Baratheon was so concerned about Sansa’s wellbeing? And why did he want to know the real story behind their first meeting?

And what the hell his words about _being drown in each other_ meant?

“Sorry, I need to go,” Sandor grumbled, shaking his head, which was starting to be clouded by a wine mist.

“Of course,” Stannis nodded. “Sorry to drag you away from your girlfriend.”

“No worries,” Sandor mumbled and walked away from the hallway, entering the noisy party area. 

He scanned the room for Sansa’s presence, checking the dance floor and and the tables - apparently she didn’t move from her place, patiently waiting for her _boyfriend_ to show up, but she wasn’t all alone.

_Please god not Tormund._

The old bugger was telling Sansa something in a very exciting manner, and she was sitting there, her hands crossed on her laps, her cheeks almost the same colour as her hair.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Sandor politely asked, appearing next to Tormund.

“Oh, nothing particular,” the senior accountant replied with a cheeky smile. “You know, just discussing with a fair lady some not really noble things.”

“You’re drunk,” Sandor stated, seating himself next to Sansa and protectively embracing her with his hand, the other laying on the table, fingers clenched into a fist.

“It’s a bloody Christmas party,” Tormund hiccupped. “Not a nursery matinee. Of course I am drunk, who isn’t?”

“Sandor isn’t,” Sansa peeped, leaning to him again. It was a matter of seconds before her hand was on Sandor’s hip again.

She was getting way too comfortable with all this touching thing - not as if Sandor complained. It was quite nice and warm to be seated like this, his hand wrapped around Sansa’s shoulders, her hand on him, and the smell of her hair was so sweet Sandor realised he needed to pour himself a little bit more wine.

“I saw him, he drunk almost all wine which was assigned to your part of the table,” Tormund blabbered. “Well, anyway, my fair lady, don’t allow your beautiful knight to drink too much before the night is over.”

“He’s a sellsword, not a knight,” Sansa giggled and put her head on Sandor’s shoulder. “And why he shouldn’t drink too much? It’s a party, after all!”

“Then you’ll be too disappointed when the night comes,” Tormund smirked. “You know, when your sellsword will come to his lady to get some reward.”

“Oh fuck off,” Sandor groaned, waving his hand. “Fair ladies doesn’t need to hear such inappropriateness.”

“Fine, fine, I’m leaving,” the accountant got on his feet and winked. “Have a good night, you two.”

“Fuck Tormund and fuck his filthy mouth,” Sandor sweared after his colleague left. He poured himself some more wine and drunk it in one shot.

“Your mouth is filthy too,” Sansa giggled. Apparently she was too deep in her cups, she was not almost laying on him, her delicate legs pressed into his hip, and she was drawing something with her finger on Sandor’s chest plate, as if following an invisible pattern.

“At least I am not making some indecent comments about my colleagues and their personal lives.”

“Tormund seems to be a nice old man,” Sansa made a drunken giggle again. “Well, maybe his jokes are too much, but at least he is an easy-going person. Not like some others old men whose mind is full of some, ugh, filthiness.”

“Are you talking about someone particular?” Sandor groaned and clenched his fists. “Alright, tell me his name and I’ll beat him up for you.”

“Oh no, it wasn’t like this,” Sansa reassured him quickly, tilting her head and staring at him with her deep blue eyes. “I mean, nobody tried to assault me with some comments, I’ve just wanted to tell that there are people like this… That’s it.”

“For example?”

“My sister-in-law’s father,” Sansa sighed. “I can’t say I have attended too many family gatherings where he was present, but even though I think I had enough,” she sticked out her tongue to show her disgust. “Ugh, he’s not a nice man at all.”

“I see,” Sandor answered, being hypnotized by Sansa’s tongue. It was so small and delicate, just like Sansa herself. And her lips were quite small, but they were full and had a very nice colour.

When he kissed her earlier, it was really nice and sweet, probably because her lipstick was involved - but now Sansa had drunk some wine and ate dozens of cakes the venue was serving for a dessert, so the taste of her lips had to change, right?

“Can you please not move?” Sandor asked, calculating how he should move so their seating position won’t bother his movements.

“I’m sorry?” Sansa chirped, blinking.

“Just want to try something,” Sandor mumbled and reached down to kiss her.

He just wanted to her a quick peck, a similar to the one which happened earlier today - but Sansa didn’t listen to his request and still wanted to ask him something, so when Sandor had finally leaned down to kiss her, she opened her mouth, unintentionally deepening the _peck_.

_Oh. Fuck._

She did taste sweet, a mixture of lemon, wine, and her lipstick. Her little tongue brushed over Sandor’s lip and she made a tiny squeak at the sensation, closing her eyes and latching on to Sandor’s armour. She really was an inexperienced kisser, she didn’t lie to him, but it didn’t matter at all. Sandor opened his mouth just a little bit on instinct, his eyes wide open, carefully watching Sansa’s reaction to his actions. Her eyelashes were trembling and her cheeks were red again, but there was something peaceful in her features as if she really enjoyed their awkward kiss, even being drunk and doing it on public because of their agreement.

That was so sweet of her.

Sandor closed his eyes, allowing himself to drown in the warmth flowing in his chest. It felt so nice, Sansa’s hair smelled sweet and were reminding him of spring, and her little palm was travelling down his arm, until she found his one and entwined their fingers.

Yes, it felt so right like this.

_He definitely had too much wine than he could bear._

Sandor groaned and cut off their weird kiss, drawing back from Sansa. His pulse was pounding in his ears, and the lack of warm body pressing into him was making Sandor somehow miserable and lost.

“So,” Sansa said, trying to catch her breath. Her cheeks still were too red for her face, and deep blue eyes changed their colour, becoming darker than they were. “What did you want to try?”

“If your lips changed their taste after you had your wine and stuff,” Sandor mumbled awkwardly.

“For real?” Sansa tilted her head to the side, looking confused.

“For real,” Sandor’s ears were definitely on fire.

“And,” she licked her lips unintentionally, a new, deep dark look in her eyes - _it had to be wine doings for sure_. “Was the taste different?”

“It was,” Sandor nodded.

“Good,” Sansa stated, leaning forward as if she wanted to kiss him again.

It was so wrong, she would never want to kiss him on her own will. Or, most probably, it was still a part of their acting, but Sansa looked at him with _that glance_ , so Sandor decided to blame everything on the wine. She definitely had too much for her stature and habits, it was making her act as if she was really into him, an it was so wrong, and that was why Sandor squeezed her shoulders and leaned forward to get closer to her lips.

“Oh come on,” Bronn groaned almost next to his ear. “If you can’t wait to devour each other just go home, don’t spoil the night for everyone else.”

“Go away,” Sandor mumbled, but moved aside, trying to ignore Sansa’s pouting.

“Well, I’m heading home anyway,” Bronn shrugged. “Some people had already left, so everything is in your hands, my friend - just remember to stay calm and not fuck each other in public, m’kay?”

“Just go,” Sandor waved his hand, feeling something similar to disappointment.

Well, the party was almost over now, and it kind of looked he messed it up in the end. His head started to hurt a little bit, he searched for the water jug nearby, but there was only wine. Wine, too much wine for him. Sandor cursed.

“Sorry,” he felt Sansa’s fingers on his arm, tracing their way from his elbow to the palm. “I’ve just remembered, ugh…” there was shame in her voice, but her eyes were full of amazement sparkles. “My flatmate is hosting a party tonight, so it will be really busy at my place, so…”

“So?” Sandor repeated dumbly.

“Could I stay at your flat for tonight?” she asked innocently, but Sandor doubted she was unaware of the meaning of her words.

Well, apparently he didn’t mess things up. Maybe it wasn’t right to accept something like this from a person who was his friend and was acting like being in love with him just because of their agreement, but the wine told Sandor he had to agree and take her to his place.

_Stupid wine._

Sandor nodded and leaned forward again.

“A sellsword is here to collect his payment, my lady,” he snorted before pressing his lips to hers again.

Well, if he messed everything up, at least it was in a very nice way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, the night at Sandor's  
> what are they going to do?  
> have a smutty continuation of their evening?  
> or just talk about their lives?  
> or simply play video games?  
> who knows...


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some dubious decisions mentioned in this chapter  
>  ~~It's my first time writing smut in English, ahah--~~

Sansa leaned to him and started plant short kisses on his left cheek as soon as their can started to move.

"We are not alone here," Sandor mumbled, checking an indifferent driver out of the corner of his eye. The man sighed and continued driving, probably, he got used to any possible behaviour from his passengers through the length of his career.

"So what?" Sansa giggled and soundly kissed him on the burnt corner of his mouth. "Don't care,” she murmured and moved her mouth to his jawline.

She looked too eager to continue what they had started at the party, her hands running up and down Sandor's biceps, moving to his chest from time to time. Well, he was still wearing his armour, but it didn't bother Sansa at all. 

Sandor sighed, and Sansa took an advantage straight away, covering his mouth with hers, her tongue on his lower lip. Fuck, she was learning really quickly, gone was an inexperienced kisser, as well as a shy lass he met not so long ago. Was it wine, or maybe Sansa just started to feel herself more open next to him, Sandor didn't know. He wanted to protest a little bit, but Sansa's tongue slid in his mouth and there was no chance at all he could make any protest against her actions.

When Sansa finally pulled herself away and licked her now swollen lips on an instinct, Sandor realised he was so very hard.

"We need to stop," he mumbled again, trying to catch his breath.

"Why?" Sansa whined and put her palm on his knee.

"Because we are in a bloody cab," Sandor patiently explained, now trying to calm himself down and not let his cock to take over his mind. "It would be improper if we started to devour each other in front of the others, right?" 

"Right," Sansa pouted and pulled away completely, seating herself properly on a passenger space. Her palm stayed on Sandor's knee, though.

It was the sweetest torture Sandor ever experienced in his miserable life. The women he slept with before never tried to seduce him or to have any kind of a proper foreplay, they always went straight to the point and left as soon as the quick coupling was over. But Sansa - well, her behaviour was pointing on the fact she would gladly spend some time on numerous kisses, and maybe even something else. She was smiling, humming a cheerful tune, and her fingers were squeezing Sandor's knee, changing their position from time to time, so she was brushing her thumb over his pants, sending shivers of pleasure down his spine.

Well, maybe she _really_ wanted him. Or it was just the wine speaking instead of her. 

He kissed her when they were still at the party, and she kissed him back. They were pretending in front of his colleagues to be a happy couple, so they had to do everything a normal couple does. Probably, the amount of consumed alcohol made Sansa think they still were in the middle of their acting, and that was exactly why she kept kissing him when they started their drive home and why she was still thinking about continuing their kisses when they will arrive at Sandor's place. Right. It was the wine acting, not Sansa, Sandor decided and took a deep breath, thanking god his cock was calming down as well. Soon they will arrive to their destination, Sandor will take Sansa to his flat, give her all washing necessities and prepare a huge couch in the living room so she could have a proper sleep. And they won't do any stupid things, like sleeping together and then regretting it the next morning.

After all, Sandor was still Sandor, with his rude behaviour and disgusting scars, and if wine was making him a Prince Charming in her eyes, this illusion would disappear the next morning, leaving Sansa disgusted and miserable about her drunk decision.

Yeah, his plan was a wise and proper one, Sandor even applauded to himself in his mind.

When the cab stopped in front of his house, Sansa was still clutching his hand, a new seductive sparkle in her eyes. She was holding his palm when they were riding the elevator, brushing his rough skin with her delicate palm. Sandor was trying hard to only look in front of him, but it was impossible not to shoot some quick stares out of the corner of his eyes at Sansa. She was biting on her lip, her breath ragged and cheekbones red as a fire. She must be thinking of what they are going to do when the heavy door of Sandor’s flat will finally be closed behind them, but Sandor knew that the only thing Sansa will meet tonight will be a warm bath and a cozy couch. 

_That’s it._

_End of story._

When Sandor had actually closed and locked the door behind them, he turned to Sansa to show here where the shower and living room were - and at the very same moment he was attacked again. Sansa’s lips crushed his own, and it was so strange to be attacked by a pretty lass like that, nobody ever wanted to kiss him, or his jaw, or his cheeks, and Sandor simply shuddered to a halt, allowing her to continue her actions. Sansa hummed, lightly biting on his lower lip, and moved closer, leaning into him and squeezing his shoulders.

“Sandor,” she gasped, clearly pointing that even despite the wine she still knew _whom_ exactly she was kissing in the dark hall. And it was him, an ugly and dumb Sandor Clegane, who was too weak to confront anything Sansa was able to offer him at the moment.

He kissed her back, tangling his fingers in her wild red locks. She was so soft and fragile against him, her body pressed into his rough one with all power she possessed. Sandor returned her favour, kissing and biting first her lower lip, and then doing the same with the upper one, and Sansa _moaned_. Gods, she really moaned, it wasn’t a tiny squeak or anything like this, it was a moan, full of lust and desire. Sandor felt her hands running down his back and finally finding the edges of his tunic. Her nails were quite short, but still she was able to scratch him lightly when she moved her palms under his clothes.

“Sandor,” she repeated again, no, _moaned_ , and her leg was suddenly wrapped around Sandor’s hip. “I think I don’t need my jacket.”

“As my lady wishes,” Sandor groaned, quickly unzipping her coat with trembling fingers and taking it off of her. If he was a proper gentleman, he would stop from whatever they were doing and put it on the hanger. But Sandor was simply Sandor, and he was not able to wait for anything what was following Sansa’s rough kisses and sweet sounds, so he threw it on the floor and kissed Sansa again. Their tongues met and Sandor bucked his hips forward, earning a hiss and a moan in return.

He was still wearing his armour. He didn’t have his jacket today, just a warm tunic and a set of handmade armour, but suddenly it felt as if he was wearing too much layers of clothes. Sandor moved away, quickly dealing with the clasps of his _sellsword’s wear_ and threw it on the floor too. He could deal with the rest of his clothes later on, when they will move somewhere else from the dark hall, but now his body and mind were simply attached to Sansa, not giving a room for any other actions. So he pinned her to the wall with his body, cupping her round arse with his hand, the other latching onto her hair.

It felt as if her body was on fire, Sandor could feel her heat through two layers of clothes. Sansa was moaning when he kissed her neck and chin, bucked into him when his other hand moved a little bit lower from her arse, and whimpered when he moved away to be able to lean forward and cover her pretty tit with his mouth through the soft material of her dress. It was only a dress, Sandor realised with a delight. She wasn’t wearing a bra today, but her tits looked round and perfect anyway. Someone could call them too small, but Sandor didn’t care. Her tits were nice and very pretty and very aroused, he felt a hardness of her nipple and lightly bit it through the fabric.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Sansa cried out and Sandor felt her body starting to tremble.

They were just kissing and touching each other, and he only bit on her nipple - and she was almost _done_ . In Sandor’s opinion, this was an utter madness, but it was a very welcomed madness. And the most important thing was that _both_ of them welcomed and embraced it. Sansa was clinging to him again, her fingers running through his hair as if she was trying to calm herself down with this soothing motion. It didn’t work, as soon as Sandor got down on his knees and pressed light kisses to her stomach, she shivered and moaned again, this time much _deeper_ than before.

“I don’t need this dress,” she was panting and moving her shoulders as if hoping that the dress will fall down to her feet just because of this simple motion. She probably forgot about all buttons, knots, and ribbons she attached to her dress earlier, and Sandor chuckled.

“What an eager lady we have here,” he murmured, tossing and lifting up her skirts, one of his hands slid up her long leg. She was wearing her tights, it was bloody winter after all, but apparently Sansa’s body became too sensitive now. She shivered, her mouth open and Sandor was able to hear her low, quick breath. From time to time it was mixing with some small sounds Sansa was making, and Sandor decided he liked all her sounds very much.

He quickly dropped down her tights, hoping that there won’t be any resistance from Sansa’s side, but she moaned loudly again and bucked her hips.

“Do something,” she exhaled. “Please, Sandor, I…”

She didn’t need to ask him twice. Sandor lift her skirts even higher and pressed his lips to the inner side of her left thigh.

“ _Oh fuck_ ,” Sansa moaned in reply, a visible wave of pleasure coming through her body. Sandor decided to take it as a good sign and moved his lips higher, caressing the lacing on her panties with his tongue.

Her body was _literally_ on fire. And then Sandor unlaced her panties and took them off, and found that she was already _so we_ t. Because of him. She was panting, and moaning, and tugging at his hair, and bucking her hips to get some sort of relief, and now she was wet too. Fuck, it was too much. Sandor gulped, caressing her tight, and then leaned forward, pressing his lips to the hot wetness between her legs.

He never had a chance to do this to any other woman. His first girlfriend - or, to be more precise, a lass who apparently just liked his cock, - had her face screwed up the first time when Sandor offered he could do something for her with his mouth. The next time she literally pushed him away, saying that she will never allow those scars to be anywhere lower than her cheeks. They were oozing from time to time, she said, so what if they were carrying some sort of infection? Sandor shrugged and after that he wasn’t seeing her anymore. The other time he tried to move his head between the legs of another woman he received a disgusted stare in reply, so he never finished what he started that time. And that was it. 

But now his mouth was pressed between the legs of the prettiest and hottest woman he ever met, and she wasn’t flinching away, or making any comments about his face or scars, or trying to push him away. Sansa was moving with the movements of his lips and tongue, her voice hoarse and moans so sweet Sandor was afraid he could come in his pants without even touching himself. And it weren’t only her moans he could call _sweet_. Sandor made a muffled groan and sucked on her clit, and then she was done.

She came with a loud moan which was somehow resembling his name, her body shaking and her hands tugging his hair to the point Sandor started to feel some pain. And when she bucked her hips forward again and her voice broke from the pleasure, Sandor’s mind stopped to work completely - and yes, he _came in his pants_ as if he was a stupid schoolboy. He didn’t even need to palm himself through the layers of clothes, he was done just from listening to Sansa’s moans, feeling her body shaking and trembling, tasting her sweetness.

_What a pathetic idiot he was._

Sansa’s body relaxed, she was still standing next to the wall, he fingers playing with Sandor’s hair.

“Sandor,” she purred, and when he tilted his head up she gave him a cheerful grin. “Would my precious sellsword give me _something else_ tonight?”

There was a seductive note in her voice now, and she didn’t even resembled a shy but nice lass from before, as if she was possessed by someone or something. Well, that _something_ was called a pure lust, Sandor was able to see it in her eyes. He gulped and nodded, and Sansa’s hand moved down to cup his cheek. Sandor instinctively leaned to her touch, closing his eyes and trying to put all his thoughts together. After he found his release the drunken mist in his head started to vanish away very slowly, and now he was trying to understand what the hell had just happened.

He just made Sansa come with his mouth. Standing on his knees in the dark hall of his flat. And Sansa enjoyed it very much and was looking for something more than just simple caressing of her clit. But she was drunk. He was drunk as well, but it didn’t called off the fact _he_ was the one who had to be responsible for the actions of both of them. She simply enjoyed it because she had too much wine today, that’s correct. There was no other explanation she was clinging to him, moaning from his harsh kisses, and even coming because of his tongue. She was drunk and weak, and Sandor clearly took an advantage over her.

And the worst thing was that he seemed to enjoyed it. She enjoyed it as well, but she was under the powerful spell of the wine. And he took an advantage over her and made her come. And when he was doing that, he was still calling her _Sansa_ in his mind. He almost slept with a woman whose name he didn’t know.

Wait, no. He almost slept with a woman who was pretending she loved him and cared for him. And he was pretending to feel the same things towards her. They didn’t even have a proper affection, it was just in their heads, a part of a perfect acting, which made everyone believe they were in love. Or cared for each other. Or both. And they almost slept. Well, he did suck on her clit and made her moan like crazy, but was it what both of them would wish for when their minds will be cleared from the wine and madness of this night? Of course not.

_Fuck._

This time he messed things up so badly he wanted to die.

“Sandor,” _Sansa_ purred again, caressing her thumb over his lips. “Let’s move somewhere else, it’s cold.”

Sandor blinked and nodded, staring at her in a disbelief. She clearly was still deep in her cups, her release not helping to clear her mind. Otherwise, it made her even more wicked, and she was constantly licking her lips when looking at him.

“Ugh,” Sandor grunted, trying to avert his gaze. He was still standing in front of her on his knees, and Sansa put her hand on his shoulder, trying to get his attention back to herself.

“Your bedroom,” she said, her voice sounding as if she was a real lady who wanted to command her sellsword. “Now.”

Sandor nodded and stood up on his feet, feeling himself like a huge piece of rubbish. Sansa hummed and leaned to him again, so Sandor didn’t have an option but to sweep her up and move to his bedroom. Sansa giggled, placing a loud wet kiss on his neck, and Sandor shivered. He was starting to feel this warm feeling again, but he had to stop. This time for real. He didn’t want to mess up again, and he didn’t want Sansa to regret her action tomorrow, when she will be sober and the images of the previous night will be flashing in her mind.

So he brought her to his bedroom, put her on the bed and stepped away.

“Sandor?” Sansa bit her tongue, looking at him from the bottom up. “Come here, Sandor.”

  
She looked like a _perfection_ now. Her lips red and swollen from their kisses. Her cheeks red and her eyes still having that darker shade which was driving Sandor mad. She managed to unbutton her dress partially, and now it was slipped down from her left shoulder, showing off her creamy skin and the most perfect tit ever. She was panting, the look of pure lust in her eyes, and she was calling for him, asking him to join her in the bed. She wanted him, and that was the worst. None of the women like Sansa would like to get fucked by an ugly prick like Sandor. None of them wished to have their tits licked and sucked by the burnt lips like his. None of them wanted to to wake up in the morning next to the disfigured face of a man who took his advantage and simply used them for his own pleasure.

Sandor slowly moved and sit on the edge of his bed, his hip touching Sansa’s heel.

“Sandor?” she repeated again, and this time her voice sounded a little bit faltered.

“Sansa,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Gods, woman, I still don’t know your real name, can you imagine?”

“That’s alright,” she giggled as if he was telling her the funniest story ever. “You can keep calling me Sansa. I like when you say it. It sounds so warm and I can feel I am needed,” she giggled again, then a hiccup followed.

Sandor shook his head, trying to to pay too much attention to her words. 

“Go to sleep, Sansa,” he said. “It’s too late now.”

She didn’t reply. She was staring at him in disbelief, her mouth opened slightly.

“No,” she whispered, quickly moving forward and latching onto his hand. “You _can’t_.”

“I know I can’t touch you now,” he agreed, but Sansa shook her head vigorously, her nails sinking into his skin.

“You can’t do this to me, Sandor,” she said with a broken voice, and now there were tears in the corner of her eyes. “You were kissing me, you were kissing me _everywhere_ , and you were so gentle to me, so why do you want to stop?”

“Because we had too much wine today,” Sandor sighed. “It’s better to stop now, otherwise both of us will regret everything tomorrow…”

He wasn’t able to finish his sentence. Sansa slapped him with a loud sound, her body shaking again, and this time it wasn’t a pleasure which caused it to her.

“Why you are like this,” she whispered, raising her voice. “Why the fuck you had to turn to be like every other man, who wouldn’t like to sleep with me even when we are drunk? Tell me, Sandor, why?”

By the end of her sentence she was openly crying, her eyes flashing in a mixture of rage, sorrow, and pain. Sandor wasn’t sure why she was acting like this, he just simply wanted to prevent any unwanted outcome of this night, he wanted to be wise and show Sansa he was a proper man who was able to respect her wishes. But apparently, it wasn’t enough.

“I thought you will like me,” she hiccuped, her voice breaking for the god knows which time tonight. “You were kissing me at the party, and then you devoured my body when we were in the darkness - is it my body which turned you off? Tell me, what you don’t like? My tits? Are they still too small? Or is it about my hair? Am I still a plain as a wood? Tell me, Sandor, am I still an ugly wench, or what?”

She was clearly having some sort of a breakdown, bursting into tears, and she was telling an utter nonsense, sobbing and laughing hysterically. How on the earth she could think Sandor considered her ugly? She was a perfection, from her character to her body, but apparently she didn’t even want to hear his concerns, clearly thinking of something else. Something completely different, which was now taking over her mind, and Sandor realised he felt some sort of fear. He had no idea how to help a woman in that state, so he just simply moved forward and embraced her, holding her shaking body close to his chest.

Sansa was crying and crying, she was trying to tell him something else, her little fists hitting his back from time to time, but it looked like the wine was finally taking over her completely and her tongue started to slur. Sandor hold her closely, stroking her hair and staying quiet. He knew that she had to calm down, and he was afraid that any unnecessary word could make things worse. So he was holding her, stroking her hair, and at some point started to rock her body as if she was a little child. It somehow helped and Sansa’s cries started to fade. She was still sobbing, pressing her body to his, but this time Sandor didn’t feel any arousal. 

“Listen, Sansa,” he said quietly when her sobs ended as well. “We need to get some sleep now, okay? Then the morning will come, we will be sober and then we could decide what we are going to do, right?”

“You will not like my body when you’re sober,” she hiccuped again, the trace of sorrow in her voice.

“Your body is perfect, trust me,” he chuckled, brushing the wet hair back from her forehead. “But we need to sleep first. And I will completely understand if you will decide to go away and never see me again after what I did to you.”

“I won’t”, she shook her head eagerly.

“You need to get sober to make any decisions,” Sandor chuckled again, helping her to lay down on his bed and bringing the second pillow closer to her as well. “I’ll sleep in the living room.”

“Don’t go,” Sansa asked in a weak whisper. “Please.”

“Go to sleep,” Sandor sighed, stroking her head in a soothing motion.

“But I won’t regret anything,” Sansa mumbled with a sob after she closed her eyes. “I never… Never felt anything like this. And I don’t want to disappoint you when you will see me in the morning.”

“You are talking nonsense,” Sandor pulled some hair away from her face.

“I know I am a disappointment,” Sansa laughed with another sob. “I’m disappointing everyone. Too bad for my family, too ugly for the men, what I am good for anyway? I wish I was home playing video games.”

“Don’t talk like this about yourself, okay?” Sandor huffed, placing a duvet over her. “Just sleep.”

Sansa started to mumble something else, but it was so slurred he was able to catch just some separate words like  _ ugly bitch _ ,  _ mother _ , and  _ establishment _ . It didn’t make any sense for Sandor, so he waited until her breath finally became steady and quietly sneaked out of the bedroom.

He went straight to the kitchen and poured himself a huge glass of cold fresh water. He was still feeling his head swimming from the mixture of alcohol and all sort of emotions he went through just during the last hour, or maybe even less. Sandor shook his head, trying to calm himself down. Then he got himself another glass of water and finished it in one go. He knew he needed to get some sleep, but somewhere deep inside he didn’t want the morning to come.

In the morning Sansa will slap him again and go away, not even casting another look at his ugly mug. And she will be right to do so, that was exactly what he deserved for his actions. She was telling him now she won’t regret nothing, but they weren’t some characters from a book or video game, their life was way more complicated - and that’s why Sandor was pretty sure he will lose everything he managed to build with Sansa during the time of their kind of friendship. And it simply will happen because he was a stupid drunken man.

A pathetic man.

If Sansa truly was a lady and he was her sellsword, she would already ask for his head. But in their reality he will just get another slap and the sound of the closing door, and that will be the end.

Sandor wished for morning to never come, but in the end he dragged himself to the living room, seated himself on the couch, and simply fell asleep just like that, his dreams as empty as his futile life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alcohol is a very bad thing ¯ \ _ (ツ) _ / ¯  
> i know it is a very dubious moral and stuff, ugh, i'm sorry (':


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, would you like to have some t a l k i n g?  
> I've promised a fluff, but the road to it is a hard one...

Sandor woke up to the muffled sounds somewhere in the kitchen. He groaned and turned over on his stomach, trying not to think too much about this noise, his head hurt and Sandor felt himself as if his body was on fire and boneless at the same time. He definitely needed some more sleep, but the sounds from the kitchen decided to drive him crazy for sure. He sat up on the couch, rubbing his temple and trying to put together everything what led to his current state.

Right, he was attending the Christmas party with Sansa. Then he drank too much wine. And they kissed. And went to his place. And…

“Fuck,” Sandor stated loudly, his eyes wide open. The flashing images of the previous night were now floating his mind and the heavy feeling which consisted of shame, regret, and self-loathing had comfortably seated itself on Sandor’s shoulders.

And as soon as his mind started to work properly, he was able to recognise Sansa’s voice coming from the kitchen, she probably closed the door and now was loudly talking to someone. Maybe she called her elder brother and was describing him all the atrocities Sandor did to her the last night. Or maybe even called her father, who will appear on his threshold and beat him up. Sandor was sure Sansa’s father was much smaller than him, but he would gladly accept any punishment for his actions without saying any word.

He stood up on his feet, looking around and checking if Stranger was nearby. The lazy ragdoll was nowhere to be seen, so Sandor sighed, picked up his phone from the coffee table next to the couch, and slowly went to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and washed his face, carefully checking on the scars after he found blood on his fingers. He went through so many surgeries and graftings during his life, but they started oozing from time to time, making Sandor desperate and people around him - disgusted. He cursed under his breath, getting a soothing gel he always kept in a small locker under the sink.

After he was done with his morning routine, there was no chance he could avoid meeting Sansa face to face anymore, so Sandor took a deep breath and quickly prayed to all gods he knew and was able to remember - literally to all of them, the ones from a real life and fiction which came to his mind. Well, he need the help of any possible higher power, that was for sure.

He quietly opened the kitchen door, trying not to distract Sansa, and came in, feeling himself really awkward. Sansa was sitting at the dining table, a glass of water in front of her and Stranger on her lap. She was clutching her phone in her right hand, the left one gesticulating as if she thought the person on the line will see her now.

“So please,” she said, and that _please_ didn’t sound very nice at all. “Tell mother that I won’t be coming home at all of they will stick to this dumb plan, alright?”

Sandor quietly stepped closer to her and Sansa finally tilted her head up, setting her eyes on him. Sandor nodded awkwardly, showing he won’t be distracting her conversation, and Sansa nodded in reply too, a strong blush suddenly creeping over her cheekbones. Stranger raised his head too, observing his master lazily, but then went back to sleep. Apparently, he preferred Sansa’s delicate lap to his one for sure.

Sansa was quiet, listening carefully to what the other person (one of her siblings? Her father?) was telling her. She frowned and there was a little wrinkle between her eyebrows now.

“Sorry, but I don’t have any desire to spend my Christmas holidays in his company,” she finally spat. “End of story.”

Sandor seated himself on the chair not so far from Sansa, but he still wasn’t able to hear anything the other person was talking about. But as soon as he finally got a courage to ask Sansa with whom she was talking now, she suddenly cursed loudly and hung up.

“Sorry,” she said straight away, turning to him but keeping avoiding his eyes. “Just some family shit which came up just couple of days before Christmas.”

She supposed to go to see her family, Sandor recalled. And apparently, her family did something to make her stay at their house unbearable. And most probably all this family shit happened because of a man - after all, Sansa said something about _his company_. The question was, was it a family member or someone not connected to them, and Sandor was really eager to find out about it.

Instead, as soon as he opened his mouth to ask her about the phone call which made Sansa so displeased, he suddenly said completely different words.

“What’s your name?”

“Pardon?” Sansa finally raised her stare, looking at him.

“Your name,” Sandor repeated, feeling himself the greatest fool in the world.

“It’s Sansa,” she answered, shifting uncomfortable. Was it because of his questions, or was the Stranger the main reason for it, Sandor didn’t know.

“No,” he shook his head. “I meant, your _real_ name. Not the one I asked you to take as yours for our, you know, agreement.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as if her life depended on this answer.

“My real name _is_ Sansa,” she finally said, opening her eyes and staring at him with some sort of a dedication. “So you see, you kind of predicted it right.”

“You’re joking,” he puffed, crossing his hands in front of him.

“Do you want me to show you my ID?”

“No worries,” Sandor sighed, feeling a little bit uncomfortable because of this dedication she was now possessing. “But it still sounds like a stupid joke. After all, it is not really a popular name nowadays, I mean, you can’t really meet a single Sansa just walking down the street.”

“But somehow you decided to take it for your imaginary girlfriend,” she giggled, her eyes returning into their normal state, getting their usual warmth.

“Well, I just picked it up from a nametag of a cashier I saw in the morning,” Sandor shrugged. “Don’t remember at all who this lady was, maybe a lass of your age, maybe an elderly woman - after all, almost all Sansas are now around the age of the Queen’s eldest children.”

“Oh thank you,” Sansa burst into laughter. “Well, I am very sorry I tricked you, but actually I am eighty years old and went through hundreds of cosmetic surgeries to look as young as I am.”

“And probably through some sort of a witchcraft too,” Sandor snorted. “But really, who on the earth calls their daughters Sansa nowadays? I can use my right hand to count all young Sansas I’ve ever met or heard of during my whole life.”

“For example?” she asked, suddenly getting very still and shrinking her head into her shoulders.

“Well, there is that folk singer from Scotland,” Sandor started to tick it off on his fingers. “And I met one when I was in secondary school and we had some sort of competitions between our borough school. Then there’s an ex-air marshal’s daughter - I mean, I am talking about Stark, the one who retired. Plus, if I recall correctly, there was a more or less young Sansa working for some time on the BBC in the news segment, but it was couple of years ago. So yeah,” he showed her his palm, four of his fingers bent down. “Four Sansas of your age. And with you it will make a full hand.”

“It will remain four,” Sansa said in a small voice and Sandor noted her hands were sweating as if she was afraid of something. 

“Pardon?”

“I mean,” Sansa inhaled and bit on her lip, becoming really nervous. “Well, you’ve already mentioned me before. My last name is, ugh, Stark.”

“The _fuck_?” Sandor blinked.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, the redness on her cheekbones already vanished. “I didn’t tell you, well, actually I don’t really like to talk about it to the others, it’s not because I don’t trust you or something, it’s just…”

“You’re Sansa Stark,” Sandor cut her off.

“Um, yes?”

“I mean, _real_ Stark?”

“Yeah,” Sansa sighed. “The thing is, I don’t really want people to judge me for my family, so yes, I’m always going as just Sansa, or even under my nickname, so…”

“Wait, wait,” Sandor stopped her, waving his hand. “Slow down, please. It’s too much information to handle.

Sansa nodded, staring intently at her nails. She really was feeling herself uncomfortable and probably feeling some sort of shame as well. Sandor had to become angry at her, or to accuse her of hiding such things as if he wasn’t _good_ enough to be shared her story with after their meeting. But after he gave himself couple of seconds to understand his feelings, Sandor realised he wasn’t angry at all. Well, he also didn’t share everything about his life with her, hiding some of its darkest moments for sure, so it would be logical that Sansa had something in her past which she was afraid of. Or even ashamed. Or simply didn’t want to share with a man she met online and was hanging out with just for a while.

It was still a bit strange for Sandor to think that someone could prefer to hide that part of their lives which was telling about the noble family or childhood spent in mansion somewhere in Wessex, but maybe Sansa had her own reasons to do so.

“So you dad is an ex-marshal, right?” he asked if wanting to clarify.

Sansa nodded.

“The one who is now owning literally half of the wine business of Britain?”

“Yes.”

“And your mother is Lady Tully-Stark.”

“Guess she is.”

“And you are basically a Lady yourself?”

“Technically I am”, Sansa agreed, but her facial expression clearly shown she wasn’t fond of this burden. Or this gift of the destiny, considering from which side they were looking at the subject.

“And last night I kind of fucked the noble Lady Stark with my tongue?”

“Oh _fuck off_ ,” Sansa muttered, turning red in a second.

“No, but _technically_ I did,” Sandor smirked, but then turned serious, feeling the guilt from the night returning to his shoulders. “Um, about that… I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Sansa blinked, tilting her head to the side.

“For taking an advantage over you,” Sandor mumbled. “I should have stick to my plan and bring you straight to the bedroom so you can sleep off your drunkenness.”

“B-but nothing really happened anyway,” Sansa muffled, her face the shade of a tomato, “I think I was telling you to continue, and besides,” she gulped. “It was _really nice_.”

“Nice?” Sandor knew he was now walking on the thin ice, but he wouldn’t miss an opportunity to tease her a little bit more to check how red she could become.

“Better than doing something similar with my fingers,” she was almost whispering by the end of her sentence.

“Oh yes, regarding your _heritage_ ,” Sandor changed the subject of the conversation in a blink of an eye - after all, he still had so many questions and things to discuss, therefore he definitely didn’t need an images of _Lady Sansa Stark pleasuring herself with her fingers_ in his mind. “Now I kind of get why Stannis was so worried about my relationship with you.”

“He was?” Sansa frowned. “Why?”

“Don’t know”, Sandor shrugged. “He just asked me yesterday how we really meet, apparently he didn’t buy my perfect lies about you bumping into me in the middle of the busy street.”

“Did he tell you anything else?”

“Just said that he was happy for us, and that you deserve some happiness in your life.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Sansa was staring at him now in a clear surprise. “That’s nice of him, considering his family… Anyway, yeah, it’s nice.”

“Stannis doesn’t really want to be associated with his family,” Sandor explained. “He kind of split off from the Baratheons and Lannisters many years ago, but I suppose you know about this story even better than I do.”

“Maybe,” Sansa nodded. “But I don’t really pay too much attention to what was happening among Baratheons at that time. Just heard that Stannis wanted to have a quiet life and marry whoever he wanted to pick himself.”

“But your father is sharing his business with Robert, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Sansa nodded again. “But it doesn’t mean I was really interested what was happening in his family back then. Because I was a fool.”

“A fool?”

“I was more into learning about Lannisters and stuff,” Sansa cleared her throat. “I mean, I was just thirteen, and I was quite dumb for a girl of that age.”

“No wonder you were eyeing Jaime with such intensity then,” Sandor snorted.

“I was just hoping he won’t recognise me!” Sansa objected.

“Well, he didn’t,” Sandor shrugged and took his glass. “But still, I thought you will ate him with your eyes as soon as we arrived to the pub - I mean, _I_ was supposed to be your boyfriend and you were staring at my best friend as if he was some sort of a magnet.”

“Were you… jealous?” Sansa suddenly asked, making Sandor choke on the water.

“Of course I wasn’t,” Sandor grumbled, remembering the intense feeling in his chest at that time. “Well, alright, maybe just a little bit.”

“Oh,” Sansa squeaked, averting her gaze and blushing again. Her fingers were trembling again, Sandor noticed, and she started to scratch Stranger behind his ear with such dedication he opened his left eye and meowed disapprovingly.

“Anyway, Jaime is married and he didn’t recognise you,” Sandor waved his hand. “End of story.”

“He wasn’t around so often when we were attending the same events with the Lannisters,” Sansa explained. “My father used to say he wasn’t really made for the establishment.”

“And that’s exactly why he run away in the end,” Sandor chuckled. “Got fed up with all the shit in his family and sneaked from their grip like a fish.”

Sansa looked at him, and then suddenly giggled - and this time it was a sound free of any tension.

“It’s just so funny,” she said, smiling. “I remember you told me that you kind of despised the upper posh class, but in the end you are now surrounded by people from the said establishment. I mean, Jaime, then your boss, and now me.”

“By the runaways from the said establishment,” Sandor laughed. “Well, at least in the cases of Stannis and Jaime it is like this. And what about you?”

Sansa’s smile faded away, she narrowed her brows as if thinking what exactly she should tell him.

“I am not really a runaway,” she finally answered with a sigh. “I mean, I still have all the contacts with my family, we are frequently meeting each other - not like Jaime, for example. But the nobility is not where I belong.”

“You think so? I bet you’d made a really good lady with all your knowledge, skills, and ability to adapt to any scenario. Oh, and your posture as well.”

“My posture?” Sansa was really confused now.

“Remember the photo you sent me when you finished your dress?” Sandor pointed at his phone. “When I saw you for the first time in your outfit, I straight away thought you’d make a proper lady. The way you were wearing your dress, the way you held your head, and simply your full posture - it kind of screamed _‘Hey look I am a nobility’_ to me.”

“But you didn’t say me anything about it?”

“Thought it was my imagination,” Sandor shrugged. “Anyway, it doesn’t really matter. You’re a nobility and you don’t feel you belong there, right?”

“Right,” Sansa agreed. “I mean, when you are a daughter of a marshal and your maternal grandfather is a proper Lord, people are _expecting_ some certain things from you since your are born. And especially when you are born as a girl.”

“Like, to marry a rich bugger your family will pick up for you?”

“That’s too,” Sansa sighed. “Plus, I need to act like a lady, talk like a lady, have hobbies which are good enough for a lady, and, of course, get a certain degree my family will wish me to do.”

“And as I understand, the sports manager wasn’t their choice at all?” Sandor smirked.

“Of course it wasn’t,” Sansa giggled again. “My mother still thinks I am doing a degree in _fashion design_ and work for a fashion publisher. As well as spend my free time on shopping, attending some sort of soirees, and meeting my _female_ friends in some luxury restaurants.”

“Oh, let me guess,” Sandor burst out laughing. “You are working towards your sports management degree, work in a coffee shop, as well as spend your free time on video games, attending comic conventions, and spending your time in an unfamiliar flat with your _male_ friend who just recently made you…”

“Sandor!” she cut him off in a tone as if she was acting as a lady now. 

“Sorry, but can’t just skip this joke”, he snorted.

“But yeah, you’re right,” Sansa shrugged. “I am not a person my family is expecting me to be, and I am not fitting into the borders of the establishment I grew up in. Let’s just take video games - I am more than sure my mother would through all my consoles and games away if she by any chance will come to my flat and enter my room.”

“Because it’s too unladylike to play video games? Or not noble enough?”

“The first one is correct,” Sansa sighed. “After all, my brothers were receiving so many gaming consoles for their birthdays or Christmases - oh, by the way, I was lured into them because of my youngest brother,” now she was smiling again.

“How so?”

“I was in my first years of the undergraduate studies, doing the exact course my family picked for me, and when I arrived home for Christmas Rickon received the latest version of his favourite console line. Which meant he didn’t need his portable one anymore, so Rickon wanted to throw it away, but mother told him he needs to be wise and give it to someone who might need it more. And then Rick gave it to me, I threw it in my bag and completely forgot about it until I was in the University residence hall again.”

“And then you decided to give it a try and your life changed completely?” Sandor snorted.

“Exactly,” Sansa’s smile became really wide. “I played all games which were installed on the console, then got myself some more, and after that I started to explore some other nerdy hobbies as well - and here I am.”

“That’s a nice story,” Sandor winked. “A noble and posh lady opens a wonderful world of video games, becomes a huge nerd, hides her interests from her family and tries to live a life of an average person - I think we should sell this idea to Webflix.”

“Then there should be a romance story line too,” Sansa giggled. “You know, so they could offer it for a bigger audience.”

“Some sort of a handsome love interest who is sharing her hobbies and views?”

“Something like that,” Sansa nodded and then added more quietly. “But I don’t think his looks will be the main reason she will fell for this guy.”

“Looks are important when you are trying to sell your idea to the TV series directors.”

“Maybe you’re right,” she nodded again, but this time her movement lacked any enthusiasm. “But it real life it’s not about the looks.”

“It is,” Sandor shrugged. “Trust me.”

Sansa gave him a judging look and sighed, but stayed quiet. She took her glass and sipped a little bit of water, her mind wandering somewhere else. 

Sandor decided to take this little pause to put together all tiny thoughts which were flying across his head now. So, Sansa was a lady. But she didn’t want to be a lady in the full meaning of this word. She still was the same lass he met online, with her love for video games, comics, and historical stuff. And she wanted to become a sports manager, Sandor decided to ask her later on what kind of sports she was more into. And she was working in a coffee shop, paying her rent without any support of her family. She had so many disagreements with her family, but her voice was still warm when she was talking about every already mentioned member of it. And she was still comfortable enough in his company, not raising any subjects about their - no, _his_ behaviour last night. She even didn’t slap him after he made some mentions of it. And she told him about her fin…

“Oh, by the way,” Sandor shook his head, staring at her again. “Regarding your phone call - are you still going to see your family for Christmas?”

“I really want to go,” Sansa looked at him and twitched her shoulder. “But Arya, my sister, called me and told that my parents invited another potential husband for me - you see, I’m their eldest daughter, but Arya is already married and expects a child, and I am sitting in London and doing my _fashion design degree_ . I mean, I love my parents, but I don’t want to spend Christmas in the same building as that _fucking_ Harry.”

“Harry?”

“Don’t think if you know about him,” Sansa shrugged. “Hardyng. A son of the MP.”

“The one who lost two cases regarding accusations of skipping his alimony payments?” Sandor clicked his tongue.

“That’s the one,” Sansa pouted. “And here we are, this bugger is now called a respectable man who wants to try to marry me.”

“I don’t know,” Sandor shrugged. “Do you have a pool at your parents’ place?”

“Yes, but why?”

“Just drown him there,” Sandor offered with the most serious expression. “For the greater good.”

Sansa snorted, covering her mouth with a free hand.

“Maybe I should try to do so, but definitely not during the Christmas gathering,” she giggled. “But anyway, he will be there, and he won’t be the only unbearable person at my parents’ place. I mean, my aunt Lysa is coming, and so does her husband.”

“Of fuck,” Sandor felt his mouth twitching. “I completely forgot your aunt married that toad-like imperialistic scum.”

“Unfortunately, she did,” Sansa nodded with a _very_ long sigh. “I can place on a bet half of my next wage that he will start talking about how great his Freedom Party is doing and at some point one of my siblings will politely ask him to bugger off, which will lead to another night of screamings and arguments. Well, I can’t deny we like to piss him off,” she suddenly giggled again. “But still, he’s really unbearable.”

“Aye, and combining both this guys I don’t think your Christmas holidays this year will be the nice ones.”

“Oh thank you for your support,” Sansa spit, sticking her tongue out. “I guess I will have to manage somehow - I was really eager to call my mother and say that I won’t be coming to them at all, but now,” she looked at Sandor and smiled. “I mean, after we had this talk, I kind of understood that I miss them. Not their lifestyle, but simply my family. So I don’t think I have another option.”

“I’m sorry,” Sandor mumbled, averting his gaze.

“Unless,” Sansa suddenly beamed, reaching out her hand and grabbing Sandor’s elbow. “Um, Sandor, can I ask you a question?”

“Yes?”

“I mean, we had an agreement I will be coming with you to your party, right?” she said and Sandor scowled.

He was not in the mood to remember this bloody party and _what had happened after_ , so he simply nodded to her words.

“So,” Sansa squeezed his elbow. “May _I_ ask you for a favour? You know, in return.”

“I’m listening?”

“Could you,” she took a deep breath, looking straight into his eyes. “Could you please come with me to my family gathering and pretend you are my boyfriend?”

“ _The fuck_?”

“But why not?” Sansa raised her eyebrows. “I mean, I think all your colleagues bought our acting, including Stannis. So now we will have to act the same, but now in front of my family. So, you know, they will see I am taken and am dating you for _two years_ , which means I won’t be interested in any Harrys, even if they will manage to invite the _Prince_ Harry.”

“But he is already married.”

“So no chance for my parent to invite him, then,” Sansa laughed. “But still. What do you think?”

“I don’t think this acting could lead to something,” Sandor cleared his throat. “Something _proper_.”

“Then I’ll make sure we won’t be drinking any alcohol,” Sansa reassured him, her face becoming red again.

“And what are my chances to be not thrown away as soon as you will tell them I am your boyfriend?” Sandor narrowed his eyes. “I mean, I am not a fucking posh nobility, or don’t have any business - not sure your parents will be happy to see me next to their precious daughter.”

“They won’t throw you away,” Sansa shrugged. “Well, my mother can make a scene, and my father will be _deeply concerned_ about my life and my choices, but they won’t throw you away unless you will decide to leave.”

“And what about the rest of your family?”

“Well,” Sansa chewed her lower lip. “I don’t think my siblings will be angry or anything. My aunt will be unhappy of course, and her husband…”

“Oh, regarding Baelish”, Sandor smirked. “How do you think, will he get a heart attack if I will start talking in another language right in the middle of our conversation? I mean, taking into account his beliefs about the immigrants and stuff, he definitely will have some sort of an attack.”

“You will freak him out for sure,” Sansa giggled. “So, Sandor, what do you think? Will you help with this little issue? I mean, in return you will spend the rest of Christmas holidays in a countryside mansion with free meals and stuff, so we can consider it as some sort of a trip?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “My company is closed until the first working days of January anyway.”

“Then it’s a deal?” Sansa finally released his elbow, but now she was touching his palm.

“But what about Stranger?” Sandor raised his eyebrows in a worry. “I can’t leave him here for what, five days? And Bronn is already on his way to the airport with his girlfriend, so he won’t be able to take my cat for this time.”

“We can take him with us!” Sansa beamed and clapped her hands. “You have some sort of a carrier for him, right?”

“I do,” he nodded, taking a look at Stranger, who was still peacefully sleeping on Sansa’s lap.

“Then he can come with us,” Sansa giggled. “Oh, thank you, Sandor - I mean, I know we agreed for this acting just for the period before your Christmas party, so I really appreciate that you will help me now.”

“No worries,” Sandor mumbled, listening to Sansa’s happy chirping about her plans for the day, that she had to leave to her place soon and get her belongings, and after that they could easily meet each other at the Waterloo station.

_Well, fuck._

That was a really unexpected turn of events. But he had already agreed he will ease Sansa’s sufferings during her family gathering, and she was smiling so brightly now that Sandor had to confirm there was no escape for him now. And the only problem he had was not about the fact he be spending time with a bunch of posh people he never met in his life, and of course not about going away from his cosy flat and miss his chance to spend the rest of his holidays on his own, eating pizza, playing video games, and not giving any fuck about anything.

The only problem was that after the weeks of acting, the Christmas party with his colleagues, and the last night Sandor was not really sure if he was still pretending he was feeling something for Sansa Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there will be 6 or 7 more updates, i guess, maybe more (i can never trust myself while writing fanfics lol), so i'm looking forward to finish it before the new year's eve :')
> 
> ~~it's really easy to guess Petyr's irl prototype, i guess~~


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some family stuff here~
> 
> Regarding Petyr - well, I didn't really know how to show his _evilness_ when trapping characters in our reality, and making him a serial killer or something like that would be too much for a fanfic which was promised to be a fluff... So then I turned him into a bigoted politician lol

Stranger wasn’t impressed with the new plans at all. He was hissing from his carrier while Sandor was picking a present for Sansa in a beauty store. Well, he already got her a copy of the promised "Death on the Beach", but now he was playing the role of her  _ boyfriend _ again, so he had to get a  _ proper _ present for her as well. The one he could give her in front of his family. And this present had to be a ladylike one, so Sandor went straight to the beauty store. After all, Sansa like her makeup to be perfect, and, from what Sandor spotted, she was open for different experiments regarding it.

So after about half an hour Sandor walked out of the ship with a heavy bag of loads of different eye pallets, lipsticks, and other things women were into. To be honest, his present was as ladylike as it could be expected, for example, Sandor was more than sure Lady Catelyn Tully-Stark won’t approve her eldest daughter wearing blueish lipstick, but Sandor didn’t give any shit about it.

He took a tube to the Waterloo station, buying a ticket for himself on the way. When he arrived, Sansa was already there, a little suitcase with her. Sandor wasn’t bothering with the amount of things he should take for this gathering, all his belongings fit into a huge backpack he was usually taking for this trips. He took one suit with him, so he could look  _ presentable enough _ to pass for Sansa’s boyfriend, but the rest of his backpack was filled with with all kinds of shirts, jeans, and, of course, Stranger’s stuff he had to take with him.

“Sandor!” Sansa beamed at him, taking his hand and squeezing it. Then she squatted and greeted the unimpressed ragdoll, cooing at his fluffy fat snout.

“The train is leaving in fifteen minutes,” Sandor reminded her when he decided her  _ conversation _ with Stranger was taking too much time.

“Sorry,” Sansa smiled, straightening her back and gripping the handle of her suitcase. “But you know, it’s so hard to ignore him - he is such a cute cat.”

“Oh, is he?” Sandor mumbled, an irritating feeling starting to grow in his chest.

“And very polite,” Sansa nodded. “He woke me up yesterday, but he didn’t try to bite or scratch me, or to scream like cats sometimes do. He just sat next to me on the bed and Started to meowl  _ politely _ .”

“Yeah, sometimes he is really annoying,” Sandor shrugged. Stranger made a very loud sneeze.

They boarded their train, taking seats with the table next to each other. When Sandor was done with his backpack and Sansa’s suitcase, he opened Stranger’s carrier - the fluffy bugger jumped on Sansa’s lap straight away and started to meow as if he was complaining about something. Sansa giggled and scratched his chin, making the ragdoll to purr in a bliss.

“He likes you,” Sandor stated, seating himself next to her.

“Is it rare for him to like someone?” Sansa tilted her head to the side and grinned.

“He’s a bloody ragdoll,” Sandor snorted. “He likes literally  _ everyone _ he meets. Still, I kind of hope he will decide to piss in  _ your aunt’s husband’s _ shoes.”

“Sandor!” Sansa chuckled, elbowing him in the side.

“What? From what you told me before, I bet all your siblings will like it!”

“But not my parents,” Sansa sighed. “And, of course, aunt Lysa will be furious - and that can lead to a scandal about me, a dutiful daughter of Eddard and Catelyn Stark, dating a  _ not so good _ man who has a horrible cat.”

“But we know that Stranger is the most behaved cat, right?” Sandor winked, reaching his hand out and giving his ragdoll an ear scratch.

“He is,” Sansa smiled. “I know you taught him well.”

Sandor rolled his eyes up and wanted to complain how one lazy fluffy ass wasn’t able to learn even the simplest commands he was trying to teach him, but Sansa looked so deeply in love with this furry bastard and Sandor decided to wait with this story.

When Stranger finally relaxed and was snoring on Sansa’s lap, she reached her small purse and took a bottle of water and her mobile, putting them on the table.”

So,” she said after having a drop of water. “Before we will arrive to my parents’ place, I think it will be useful if I will tell you a little bit more about my family. After all, we are dating for  _ two years _ , so by know you should know at least minimum information of each of them.”

“Right,” Sandor nodded, observing her unlocking her mobile and going through the camera roll. 

Finally Sansa found a photo she was looking for and enlarged it.

“Here’s almost everyone who should attend our family gathering,” she said, holding her mobile up so both of them could see the picture clearly.

Well. 

Sansa’s family was  _ huge _ . Sandor knew she had a younger sister and three more brothers, plus her parents had to be present too, but there were  _ twenty  _ people on the picture. And all of them looking  _ posh _ . Well, alright, almost all of them - the young guy who was sitting next to Sansa, his knee touching hers, didn’t really look as a part of the nobility, but  _ his  _ knee was touching  _ Sansa’s _ one, so Sandor disliked him straight away. Plus there was an elderly man who also didn’t really looked as if he was born in the higher society, despite his suit and posture.

“So,” Sandor coughed. “Why the hell your family is  _ that  _ big?”

“Oh, not everyone here is our relative,” Sansa smiled, zooming picture in.

“I  _ see _ ,” Sandor grumbled, staring at the guy next to her.

“So, here’s my father,” she pointed at the air marshal Eddard Stark, whom Sandor saw quite many times on the first pages of various newspapers when he was a child. “And here’s my mother,” Sansa’s finger moved to the woman sitting next to her husband.

She looked almost like aged up Sansa, but there was something foreign in her. Maybe it was because of her age, maybe it was something else, but Sandor decided that a lass next to him  _ definitely _ was more good-looking. 

“Then,” Sansa’s finger moved to the guy standing behind the couch. “Here’s Robb, my elder brother.”

“He’s a redhead too,” Sandor snorted.

“All of us are, except of Arya,” Sansa shrugged. “So you can easily spot the rest of my brothers, I guess.”

“Aye,” Sandor dabbed with his finger at the picture of another red haired boy sitting on the floor. “This one?”

“It’s Rick,” Sansa nodded.

“The one who gave you his gaming console and broke your fate?”

“Yeah,” Sansa giggled. “And he is holding Robb’s son. And Roslyn,” Sansa’s finger moved to a petite woman seated in front of her elder brother. “Is holding their daughter - she just turned three recently.”

“You didn’t tell me I will be trapped in the house with so many kids for this Christmas,” Sandor snorted.

“You don’t like children?” Sansa frowned.

“Don’t know,” Sandor simply shrugged. “I mean, I never thought about having my own child one day, and I can’t say that I am used to hang out with friends who have already became parents, so I really don’t know. Maybe it will be alright if they aren’t too loud.”

“Robb’s children are pure angels,” Sansa giggled.

“And this one?” Sandor pointed at a little girl, who was seated by Sansa’s other side.

“Oh,” she snorted. “That’s Asha, and she is a little devil, almost like her namesake.”

“Which means?..”

“She’s Theon’s daughter,” Sansa showed him another man standing next to Robb. “And Asha is Theon’s sister, but she lives abroad so we are seeing her rarely.”

“And who the hell is Theon?”

“Well, that’s a long story,” Sansa sighed. “Do you remember Balon Greyjoy?”

“The major?”

“Yeah,” Sansa nodded. “Long story short, my parents decided that it will be better for everybody if we will foster Theon who was a teen when major Greyjoy was killed. So he grew up with us.”

“And his sister?”

“She was already eighteen at that time and studying in Scotland. Father was helping her to pay for her university, so she won’t feel herself left just by her own. Oh,” Sansa moved picture a little bit to another side. “And here’s Theon’s wife, by the way.”

The woman she was showing him now also didn’t really look like a  _ proper  _ nobility, though there was a certain flair around her. And she was sharing some facial features with an elderly man Sandor stopped his attention on earlier.

“Her name is Jeyne,” Sansa explained. “She is the only daughter of my parents’ buttler, so she grew up with all of us - and then years later she eventually married Theon. And now they have a daughter.”

“But wasn’t this marriage considered too low for him?”

“Maybe,” Sansa shrugged. “Anyway, there was no one to object his choice, with all his family dead, and Asha said it was fine to marry whoever he wanted.”

“I see,” Sandor nodded. Apparently, the elderly man was the said buttler, and it was kind of interesting for Sandor to learn that some of nobility was still considering people working for them as part of their families. As if they still lived hundred years ago or something.

“Then there are aunt Lysa and  _ her husband _ ,” Sansa screwed her face. “And next to them is Bran.”

“And he is your brother too,” Sandor smirked.

“He is,” Sansa smiled. “And his girlfriend Meera is sitting next to him. Oh, she is a daughter of father’s good friend, so sometimes we are also joined by Mr Reed and his son, but I am not sure if they will attend our gathering this year. And next to Meera is Satin,” she pointed at the guy whose knee was touching  _ hers _ .

“And who is  _ him _ ?” Sandor groaned through gritted teeth.

“Oh,” Sansa’s finger moved to another man around Robb’s age. “Jon’s boyfriend. And Jon is our cousin, but he also grew up with us. And you know what,” she suddenly giggled. “They started dating last summer and that Christmas gathering was the first one when my family met him, and our dear uncle Petyr was complaining about him and Jon  _ so much _ .”

“I guess he will be  _ strongly disappointed  _ this year too,” Sandor snorted, feeling some sort of sympathy towards Jon and his  _ not so bad _ boyfriend. 

“Well, the problem wasn’t only in the fact that Jon was dating a guy,” Sansa was still giggling, probably remembering the events of the last year. “But that he was dating a guy with the  _ mixed heritage _ .”

“Poor  _ uncle Petyr _ ,” Sandor burst out laughing. “Looks like he was a really naughty boy that he is getting a new relative with the said mixed heritage for the second Christmas in a row.”

“Well, he probably deserves it,” Sansa snorted. “Anyway, the hell with him. Better take a look at my sister here,” she moved the picture a little bit again so now there was a young woman in front of Sandor.

“She doesn’t look like any of your sibling at all,” he shrugged. “More like your cousin.”

“Well, when she was a child people sometimes where thinking she and Jon were siblings,” Sansa shrugged. “Arya was a little rebel for almost all her life, cutting her hair short and not trying to be a  _ lady  _ \- so sometimes she was even called Jon’s younger brother by the strangers.”

“And now she got married and passed the rebellious flag to you?” Sandor raise his eyebrows.

“Well, it’s true she quite changed after her marriage,” Sansa sighed. “You know, I was really worried about her back then - she was married to the distant relative of Robert Baratheon just because my parent were fed up with her mischievousness and unwillingness to turn into a  _ lady _ . So yeah, it was kind of a forced marriage.”

“And did it work?”

“She and Gendry fell in love with each other, so I guess it did,” Sana grinned. “They’re expecting their child now, somewhere in January, I think.”

“Maybe there’s still a tiny bit of a rebel in your sister and she will decide to deliver her child right during the family gathering, spoiling it for everyone,” Sandor snorted.

“Who knows,” Sansa shrugged with a smile, zooming the picture out and putting her mobile on the table. “Anyway, I don’t think there’s something else for you to know… Or, right, you just need to make sure not to offer to Rick any food which contains peanuts. And my mother is allergic to grapes, so no wine for her.”

“Got it,” Sandor nodded. “Any other important instructions?”

“Well, of course there’s a list of things my family members would hate to hear or see,” she giggled again. “But after all, that’s the funniest part of a family gathering, when something goes in a wrong direction if even just for a little bit.”

“Are you sure you didn’t catch a rebellion disease from your little sister?” Sandor laughed at her.

“Who knows,” Sansa answered with a mysterious smile, giving Stranger a scratch.

Her phone buzzed shortly, and Sansa took it to check the incoming message.

“Oh, nice, so Robb will meet us at the station,” she beamed. “Which means my dear elder brother will have an honour to be the first person to meet my dear boyfriend.”

“Oh, about this,” Sandor cleared his throat. “What exactly are you expecting me to do in front of your family? Hug you? Kiss you here and there? Pretend we are making out after some glasses of champagne?”

“Just let’s act as normally as possible,” Sansa’s cheeks turned red. “I mean, the only fact I brought you to the gathering will mean for them we are  _ really  _ dating. But I wouldn’t be against some hugging,” she added more quietly.

“Got it,” Sandor nodded. “Well, let’s try as proper as it will be possible for us. And then we will move in any direction which will look as the best option in our case.”

“Right,” Sansa agreed. “By the way, we will be arriving shortly, so I guess it’s time for Stranger to go back to his carrier.”

As if understanding her words, Stranger made a disappointed loud noise, but it didn’t spare him from his fate. When the ragdoll was successfully put in his bag and Sandor retrieved their suitcase and backpack, Sansa smiled and took his hand.

“I bet it will be the funniest family gathering in years,” she announced, squeezing her fingers lightly. “And the most pleasing one too.”

“We’ll see,” Sandor nodded and started to move to the exit, dragging Sansa with him, as if she really was his girlfriend.

The station they arrived to was quite tiny for the area where posh people lived. Sandor looked around, while Sansa was dealing with her suitcase, and realised they simply arrived to the countryside.

“And where’s your family’s place?”

“We will have to drive for around ten minutes,” Sansa pouted, trying to make her suitcase to close properly with her purse in it.

Sandor sighed and bended down to help.

“Thank you,” she chirped and leaned forward to place a quick peck on his left, scarred cheek.

“And what that was for?” Sandor mumbled, feeling the warmth creeping slowly in his chest.

Sansa bit on her lip, her cheekbones red again.

“S-sorry,” she muttered, shifting uncomfortably, but tilted her head up and looked straight into his eyes.

And again Sandor started to feel himself drowning in her sight. It was so confusing, they were pretending  _ again _ , and it looked like that at some point their acting was making both of them to lose the sense of reality, mixing their life with their plan. He was drowning in her deep blue eyes, and at some point Sandor realised her face was too close to his one, and he really wanted to kiss her again. 

After all, she said she was  _ pleased  _ by the previous night.

Sandor really wanted to do something outrageous now, for example to finally close the distance between them and make the same mistake as he did earlier, but before he was able to do anything, they were interrupted by a loud cough.

“And what on the earth this is all about?” a tall red haired man asked, glaring at him with some sort of hate.

“Robb!” Sansa beamed, quickly moving and running to her brother to give him a hug, the awkward moment already forgotten. “I’m so glad to see you!”

“And I am glad to see you, little sister,” Robb Stark smiled, but there was nothing like a smile in his eyes. He was hugging Sansa and at the same time shooting daggers at Sandor. “Can’t say the same about  _ that man _ \- well, who on the earth is him?”

“Oh,” Sansa smiled widely, as if she didn’t see Robb’s displeasure at all. “That’s Sandor.”

“Sandor who?”

“My boyfriend,” Sansa proudly announced, making a step back and taking Sandor’s huge hand in hers. “I hope you will like each other.”

“Aye,” Sandor grumbled.

Judging by his look, Robb Stark would really like to wipe him out of the existence. Well, the Christmas gathering at the Starks was already promising to become the craziest experience in whole Sandor’s life. But then Sansa squeezed his palm, and Sandor decided it was worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's the pretending ver.2 begin!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Ugh, this story isn't going the way I really wanted, there still will be a happy ending and stuff, but with the Christmas special seasonal self-loathing attack I am definitely making everything worse for the characters... I'm sorry :(~~

“Sansa, dear!” her mother embraced Sansa as soon as they were inside the building. “It’s so good to see you here, Arya told me she was afraid you won’t come to visit us this Christmas.”

“Well,” Sansa laughed nervously, returning an embrace. “I was not sure about my schedule and everything, but now I am here.”

“I will have a talk with your employer when the holidays will be over,” Lady Tully-Stark pouted. “To ask someone working for their publishing house during the _Christmas_ \- well, that’s a totally outrageous decision.”

“It wasn’t about my work, mom,” Sansa sighed, taking her jacket off and making a step back to be a little bit closer to Sandor, who was still standing near the entrance, Sansa’s suitcase in his left hand and the carrier with his cat in another one.

Her movement had finally made Catelyn to pay some attention to him. She eyed him with some suspicion, her eyes stopping for some seconds at the left side of his face. Sandor’s shoulder flinched uncomfortably.

“Good afternoon, young man,” Lady Catelyn bowed her head just a little bit. “You’re Robb’s friend, right?”

“Ugh,” Robb, who was still standing nearby, sighed loudly.

“Mom, this is Sandor and he actually came here with me,” Sansa smiled, making one more small step backwards. Now the backside of her hand was touching Sandor’s one, so he finally let the handle of the suitcase go, but Lady Catelyn didn’t really pay too much attention to it.

“So he is _your_ friend?” she asked in a suspicious tone, eyeing Sandor’s face and strained posture.

“Sandor is my _boyfriend_ , mom,” Sansa explained, finally finding his fingers with hers and lacing them in a smooth quick movement.

“ _Excuse me_?”

Sandor was ready to see Sansa’s mother turning shocked or scandalised the very same moment Sansa would tell her the real reason Sandor came with her to attend this family gathering, but the expression on Lady Catelyn’s face was a confused one.

Well, at least Sansa was right and he wasn’t kicked out of the Stark house - no, _mansion_ , - as soon as her family learned about him.

“Yeah, he is my boyfriend”, Sansa smiled widely, giving a quick pluck at Sandor’s hand as if asking him to no stay still and dumb as a statue.

“Um,” Sandor cleared his throat, “It’s nice to meet you, Lady Stark,” he was about to extend his right hand for a handshake, but remembered he still was holding a carrier with Stranger, so his greeting ended up being quite awkward.

He heard a painful groan form the side of the hall where Robb stood.

“It’s Lady _Tully_ -Stark,” Catelyn corrected him in a blank tone.

“I’m sorry,” Sandor mumbled, shifting on his feet. “Nice to meet you, Lady Tully-Stark.”

“Mom, I think it’s time for us to finally go and deal with our bags and stuff,” Sansa quickly interrupted their conversation, not giving Lady Catelyn an opportunity to reply. “And it’s almost time for a dinner, so we’d better get ready for it, right?”

“You can go,” her mother nodded, a confusing tone still present in her voice. “But Sansa, you had to inform us you will be bringing your _friend_ to our place - we don’t have any guest room prepared.”

“No worries,” Sansa chirped, tightly grabbing Sandor’s palm and pulling him with her. “We both will be staying in my bedroom.”

“But Sansa…”

“It’s alright, mom,” Sansa’s smile was the sweetest Sandor have ever seen. “After all, I’ve already mentioned that Sandor is my _boyfriend_ so it will be completely fine for us to stay in the same room, as everyone else does. _Right_?”

Robb made a loud sigh again.

“Sansa,” Lady Catelyn started again. “But are you sure that…”

“Mom, I’m more than sure about anything I am doing right now,” Sansa beamed, taking her suitcase in a spare hand and dragging Sandor to the stairs. “We will see you at the dinner!”

Sandor throw a quick look at her mother, mumbling some more apologies, and allowed Sansa to tug him along. Lady Catelyn followed them with her eyes, still looked too confused about everything what just have happened.

“I think your mother believes it is some sort of a jape,” Sandor grumbled when they finally were in Sansa’s bedroom on the second floor.

“Why so?” Sansa put her suitcase next to the huge bed and sat on its edge, looking at Sandor with some interest.

“Because I doubt your mother bought a lie that her sweet and proper daughter brought home someone like _me_.”

“You think I’m sweet?” Sansa’s cheeks changed their colour straight away.

“I think you can sometimes be a little pain in the ass,” Sandor snorted. “But anyway, you got my point. I can place fifty quid on the fact your mother is now waiting for a dinner just to hear from you it was some sort of a prank and we filmed it to put it on the internet later on.”

“Oh, come on,” Sansa waved her hand. “I am sure everything will be fine - after all, mother didn’t start to yell at us, like she used to do with Arya’s past boyfriends, or didn’t faint like she did both times Jon brought home someone and introduced them as his girlfriend or boyfriend.”

“And that’s exactly why I am sure she takes it as a bad jape,” Sandor shrugged, finally putting the carrier in the opposite corner and turning back to Sansa. “Um, can I set Stranger free now?”

“Of course!” Sansa quickly was back on her feet, coming in his direction. “I’m sure poor boy had enough of being in the tiny locked space, right?”

The rest of her sentence was cooed at the direction of Stranger, who was finally out of the carrier, standing still and looking around him to make sure the new surroundings were not too dangerous. Sansa squatted in front of him, scratching his chin.

“Hopefully, he won’t make any mess here,” Sandor sighed, taking out all necessary supplies he brought with him to make Stranger’s life easier. “Where can I put his bowl?”

“I think Stranger will like to be able to wander around the whole house,” Sansa smiled. “I will speak to parents’ housekeeper, maybe it will be better to place it in the kitchen.”

“Right,” Sandor nodded. “Hopefully, he won’t be lost in this _house_.”

“Stranger is a smart cat,” Sansa beamed and gave him another scratch behind the ear. “Anyway, Sandor, why are you so sure mother won’t believe us?”

“I’m not talking about her not believing in our perfectly staged play,” Sandor snorted. “I am just sure that at this particular moment your mom thinks that we are pranking her. Look, I remember the stories you told me about your family, and they are the main reason she didn’t faint, for example - she just doesn’t believe that _you_ can go against her wishes or the rules any noble young lady is following.”

“Maybe you are right,” Sansa shrugged. “I know I don’t look as a rebellious child in the eyes of my parents, but luckily they are not really aware of my life outside their mansion.”

She giggled and tilted her head to the side, looking at Sandor with some interest now.

“What?” he asked, feeling himself a little bit awkward.

“I’m just thinking what should we do in front of my family so they won’t have any other chance to believe us and stop thinking about marrying me off to Harry,” Sansa sighed. “Because I am afraid that as soon as my parent will learn it’s not a _prank_ , they will try their best to convince me you are the worst option for a young lady like me and I should go and date _Harry the Noble_ instead.”

“Don’t know,” Sandor sighed. “Well, I can try and propose to you in front of all of them but afterwards you will have to make up a story about us splitting up and not getting married in the end.”

“I will consider this option,” Sansa narrowed her eyes. “You know, we can use it if everything will become too tense, including the matchmaking performed by my mother and father. Oh, and aunt Lysa too.”

“And _dear uncle Baelish_ as well?”

“I don’t think so,” Sansa giggled. “Well, I am more than sure he will start expressing his _displeasure_ about my choice at some point, but he won’t be too involved into setting me up with someone proper unless he will learn something about you which could trigger him and his lifestyle.”

“Got it,” Sandor nodded. “So, that’s the plan, right?”

“Right,” Sansa raised her hand and squeezed Sandor’s palm. “Ugh, it’s almost seven, so we will need to hurry and get ready before the dinner - there’s an en-suite in my bedroom, so we can change and prepare ourselves at the same time.”

“So, in the end little lady Stark isn’t so comfortable about changing in the presence of her _boyfriend_ ?” Sandor snorted, grabbing his backpack and walking to the small door near the entrance. “And that’s after _everything_ what we went through together? I’m so disappointed…”

“Sandor!” Sansa pouted and moved to the bedside, as if she wanted to take one of the pretty puffy pillow on its top and throw at him. Sandor laughed and quickly closed the door of the en-suite behind him.

  
There was a muffled thumping sound, so she _did_ throw the pillow. What a perfect little _girlfriend_ she was.

Sandor quickly washed his face, brushed his teeth (hoping it will help him to look posh enough for this place), as well as applied some gel on his scars. Just in case. He got a pair of black trousers and a white shirt out of his backpack, deciding to wear a more or less formal clothes for the first dinner. After all, it had to be the exact time everyone else will meet him for the first time, and Lady Catelyn _Tully-Stark_ will learn everything what happened in the hall wasn’t a prank. The shirt became a little bit mussy after the trip, but Sandor shrugged and decided to wear it like this. He had already put too much efforts to look presentable, so Sansa’s family will have to accept his appearance as it was.

He made a little bundle of his clothes and threw them into his backpack, but decided to get out of the en-suite just like this. Instead, he knocked at the door first.

“I’m ready,” Sansa chirped loudly and Sandor opened the door, entering her bedroom again.

Apparently Sansa had also decided that there was no point to look _too posh_ for a simple family dinner. It wasn’t even a Christmas dinner yet, so she just chose a simple floral dress with long sleeves and some shoes on a flat heel. But still, even if she didn’t put too much effort into her appearance, she still looked _gorgeous_. Like a proper lady. And she didn’t need to wear any sort of medieval dresses for it, or to act like a middle-aged noble woman - she was perfect as she was.

“You know,” she chirped again, eyeing him from head to toe. “You definitely need to wear formal shirts more often. They really suit you.”

“They make me look like some dumb superhero who was trapped into an office job,” Sandor grumbled, trying not to show he was glad to hear Sansa’s approval about his appearance.

He put his backpack on the other side of the bed, the one he would have to take for himself later on. Just thinking about sharing the same bed with Sansa was somehow making him a little bit uncomfortable and hot, so Sandor kicked his backpack to make sure it was standing properly, and turned to Sansa.

“So, are we going now?” he asked, offering her his hand.

“Alright!” Sansa beamed, taking him hand and squeezing it. She really liked to do so with his palm. “Do you think we can leave Stranger here for now?”

Sandor casted a look behind his shoulder - his cat was already laying on the window sill among the flower pots, purring, so it was better to let him be.

He nodded, and Sansa dragged him out of her bedroom again. Sandor wasn’t really familiar with this _too bloody huge_ house, so he decided just to keep following her everywhere. At least for now.

The dinner was served in the great dining room, Sansa explained on their way. Apparently there were more than one dining room in this house, but for the Christmas season her parent were asking everyone to have their meals together, so the largest room was needed. When they approached it, Sandor heard the voices from the inside. It didn’t look like if all twenty people were present, much less, but they still had two days before Christmas - so for now he had to enjoy more or less quiet dinner with some members of Sansa’s family.

Maybe it won’t be too bad.

“Oh, right!” Sansa suddenly tugged on his hand when they were almost at the door. “I forgot one important thing.”

“About what?” Sandor frowned, turning his head and looking at Sansa with some surprise.

Sansa didn’t answer - she stood up on her tiptoes instead and moved closer to him, latching on to his perfectly white shirt and kissing him. And she wasn’t there for a brief and innocent kiss, Sandor felt her mouth to open and her tongue to lean out, touching his lips and trying to get into his own mouth.

And that wasn’t _fair_.

Sandor groaned, opening his mouth and running his fingers though Sansa’s hair. His other hand was still holding Sansa’s one, and maybe their posture wasn’t comfortable enough - Sandor didn’t really care. He knew he shouldn’t kiss Sansa like this, especially after everything what happened the last night, but now they were acting again, so he’d be the biggest fool in the whole world to refuse the kisses from a perfect little lady Sansa was trying to be.

Sansa made a tiny sound with a back side of her throat, and Sandor was about to bite on her lip when he suddenly heard a loud thump from the direction of the dining room. And judging by this sound, someone had actually fainted because of their behaviour.

What an amazing start of his Christmas holidays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who fainted--


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Thanks to my health, it isn't going as fast as I was hoping...~~  
>  Well.  
> There's another Christmas in January by the way :'D 
> 
> An important note: Starks aren't bad (well, except for Baelish lol), they're just living in a bit different world than Sandor... And sometimes people can change their views on life, they just need a proper smack to do so :')
> 
> Another chapter full of talking, don't know why I am always wasting so much time on all those small details and t a l k i n g ... :(

“So, Sansa,” Eddard Stark asked in a blank tone. “Could you please tell us how it happened that we had no idea you have a… a  _ boyfriend _ ?”

The head of the Stark family was seated at the centre of the huge table, his wife next to him, helping to hold a huge bag of ice to heal Eddard’s bruised back of the head. It was still a really big mystery for Sandor why ex-air marshal had to be the one to faint because his precious daughter was kissing a creepy bugger like him, but he decided not to think about it for too much. After all, every person had their little secrets.

“Oh, we just didn’t really want to make it public”, Sansa smiled sweetly, squeezing Sandor’s hand in hers. They were sitting right in front of her parents, and somehow Sansa managed to keep their bound hands on the top of the table, so everyone could see their affection to each other. From one side, it was making Sandor a little bit uncomfortable, but from the other side he didn’t really wanted to give any fuck about his actions in front of the bunch of Sansa’s relatives.

He was right with his assumptions, tonight only a small part of them was present for the dinner. Sansa mentioned to him earlier that some of her relatives will be coming to the Stark mansion only tomorrow, so at least for now Sandor’s task was more or less an easy one - to pretend he was Sansa’s boyfriend in front of just eight people. Or, to be more precise, in front of seven of them - he decided not to really count their buttler as he was busy somewhere else and Sansa mentioned that Mr Poole didn’t really have a habit to condemn the actions of the others.

Sandor decided to count down people of this house whom he could call a decent ones.

“But Sansa,” her aunt Lysa made an audible gasp. “It was so imprudently of you. Imagine what could happen if someone in London recognised you hanging out with this… man?”

“I don’t think something bad would happen,” Sansa shrugged, a sweet smile still on her face. “Right, Sandor?”

She squeezed his hand firmly, so he probably had to add something to this very pathetic conversation.

“Ugh,” Sandor grumbled, shifting on his chair uncomfortably. “Right. I don’t think the Parliament would fall is someone would spot us in the city.”

Rickon, who was sitting at the other side of the long table, made a very loud snort, which earned him a quick judging glance from Lady Catelyn. On the other side of the table Petyr Baelish, who was drawing off his soup and not paying any attention to  _ Sandor  _ just rolled his eyes up.

“Your aunt is right,” Eddard Stark sighed. “You had to think wisely before finding yourself a boyfriend and not telling us about it. Who knows, maybe your imprudent actions can lead to a huge confusion for our family.”

He was talking about the prospect of marrying her off to someone like Hardyng brat, Sandor realised. And most probably the said brat was invited to the Stark mansion with a promise of a possible engagement with the masters’ eldest daughter in a visible future. The only thought of it made Sandor sick, and he kind of felt sorry for Sansa’s sister, who was married against her will.

“I don’t think my actions made any problems for all of us,” Sansa just shrugged. “I love Sandor, and he loves me in return, and the reason we didn’t really want to make it public was not to make everyone stare at us with some sort of prejudice or condemnation. Like you are looking at us now.”

The last part of her speech was an unnecessary one, that what Sandor was sure of. Sansa had to play a part of a dutiful and proper daughter, and she mentioned to him so many times how hard it was for her to act like this for years, tricking her family into thinking she was still leading a life of a typical spoiled girls from the upper class. But suddenly everything just fade away and here she was, misbehaving in front of her family and trying to stand up to her own opinion.

It was a brave move. It was the silliest move in the situation both she and Sandor were in.

“Young lady,” her mother raised a voice just a little bit. She didn’t look confused anymore, trying her best not to start throwing diggers at Sandor. “We are concerned about your future, that’s all. And I am not really sure if your choice of, um, partner could benefit to your life.”

“Right,” Eddard Stark finally stood in. “Tell me, Mr…”

“Clegane.”

“Yes, Mr Clegane. How did you even managed to meet my daughter?”

Sandor knew that the story of them bumping into each other won’t work for her family. The reality which sounded fine to Stannis would be the worst option to tell in front of at least her mother - Sandor remembered Sansa’s story about her hobbies being too unladylike in the eyes of all noble women. So he had to made up something really quickly - it was a shame he didn’t discuss this matter with Sansa before.

“At Sansa’s University,” he finally mumbled, earning a reassuring squeeze from Sansa, who nodded at his words.

“Are you getting your degree there?” aunt Lysa cocked her eyebrow suspiciously.

“Well, not really,” Sandor shook his hand. “I have already received my Master’s grade before, by the way.”

“Oh,” she sounded astonished. Apparently, in Lysa Tully-Arryn’s eyes a man who was built like Sandor and had an ugly mug like Sandor didn’t really look like a person who could have his degree done.

“Sandor works in IT,” Sansa chirped. “And his company was helping us with the exposition we had around two years ago.”

“Um,” Sandor nodded, making a mental note he should thank Sansa for saving his ass later on.

“Are you some sort of a technician?” Lady Catelyn asked.

“Actually, I worked as a quality tester for one of the biggest IT businesses,” Sandor answered, deciding not to mention the name of his company, as he was not really sure if Stannis Baratheon was still acceptable among the British elite. “And we were helping the University with some sort of projects for the exhibition Sansa mentioned.”

“Very well,” Eddard Stark nodded. “So, you are working in an IT business, that’s very commendable. Are you still holding the same position?”

“I’m a department manager now,” Sandor shrugged. It wasn’t a really big deal, but apparently for the Stark parents it sounded like something more or less decent. At least Lady Catelyn’s posture relaxed a little bit, and Eddard Stark didn’t look like he was going to die because of the disappointment anymore.

“And what sort of IT business is it?” Robb, who was quietly observing the whole drama in front of him, suddenly asked.

“We’re making some sort of softwares for the small businesses,” Sandor answered without hesitation. “Simple as it is.”

“Can’t say there so many big IT businesses which are working with small companies,” Robb replied, as if wanting to point at something, but nobody didn’t really pay any attention mumbling.

“I am really sorry to ask you this, Mr Clegane,” Eddard Stark cleared his throat. “But there is a personal question I would like to ask you.”

“Go on,” Sandor shrugged. He kind of was ready for any stupid question now.

“When you met Sansa and became  _ interested  _ in her,” the master of the house stopped and chewed on his lip, as if trying to think of proper words. “Was it her heritage or status was made you to, let’s call it, start your courtship?”

“Of course not,” Sandor sniffed, trying to sound offended. “When I met Sansa I didn’t even know her last name for a while, so definitely it had nothing to do with her  _ wealth  _ and  _ family _ .”

Well, he wasn’t lying at all. He didn’t even know her real name for a while, but Sandor decided not to share  _ that  _ part of the story. Next to him, Sansa nodded eagerly.

“That’s why I fell in love with Sandor,” she was chirping and chirping, pretending to be a pretty dumb bird she wasn’t. “Because he saw me for who I am in fact, and not because I was lucky enough to be born in a wealthy noble family.”

She was right. Well, partially. Sandor really started to think about Sansa as of a decent person who could become his friend even before learning any proper thing about her. And it looked like Sansa was feeling about him the same way, or at least thought about this possibility, as her sweet lie sounded confident enough. The only thing Sandor was more or less sure was the fact she didn’t  _ fell in love _ with him. Or just simply started to see him as someone more than a friend, and the events of the last night were just a drunk mistake.

_ Or maybe she  _ did  _ start? _

Sansa was still squeezing his hand, so Sandor was able to feel her nervousness all way along. She was changing her pressure from time to time, tried to caress his hand with her thumb when her family was asking him the dumbest questions, and when she was acting as if being in love with him, the pressure of her grip was suddenly gone. She wasn’t squeezing his hand anymore, she was just  _ holding  _ his hand. Sandor didn’t even know how to describe that sudden change in her behaviour, it just  _ was  _ there. And her ears became red, as if she suddenly became really shy.

Sandor wasn’t a mind-reader or a psychic, so unfortunately he had no fucking idea what Sansa was thinking in fact.

“That’s good to know,” Lady Catelyn nodded. “Still, it would benefit Sansa more if she had a chance to date and marry someone from the higher society.”

“By the way,” aunt Lysa interrupted. “Mr Clegane, tell us about your family. After all, it is very important to know about the background of the _ potential partner  _ of any child of our family.”

“I don’t have a family,” Sandor shrugged. “My parent and sister died years ago in a car crash.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Lady Catelyn sighed, for the first time eyeing Sandor with a sincere stare.

“But anyway, who were they?” aunt Lysa for sure wanted to know everything about him. Gods, she was getting more and more irritating.

“My mother was an accountant and my father worked as a translator,” Sandor waved his hand. “So, nothing really special here - well, if talking about my extended family I can just mention that my grandfather was some kind of a lord.”

Petyr Baelish moved away his soup bowl and suddenly became very interested in the conversation.

“A lord?” Eddard Stark’s eyebrow twitched a little bit.

“Yeah, many years ago,” Sandor pretended he was yawning. “Then when the war started, he gave everything he had to help the country - even his title, so that’s how we ended up being just a regular folks.”

“That’s an interesting story,” Petyr Baelish rubbed his chin. “Was that your paternal or maternal grandfather?”

“Paternal,” Sandor replied, feeling Sansa’s grip getting stronger again. “My mother was from a simple scottish family.”

“Judging from what you’ve just told, I suspect you or your father being a late child, is it right?” Lady Catelyn asked. “Since you told us your grandfather was a lord before the  _ war _ .”

“He just turned eighteen when that shit with his title happened,” Sandor shrugged. “And yes, my father was a really late child. So nothing suspicious here, right?”

“Right,” Eddard Stark nodded, seeming more relaxed than before.

“Actually, that’s  _ so nice _ to learn that the man our dearest Sansa brought home is the one of a decent origins,” Baelish sounded amused. “I can tell you, Eddard, I like him much more than any…”

“Oh, we almost forgot about the dessert,” Lady Catelyn raised her voice, cutting the bigoted bastard off. “Mr Clegane, what would you like to have as a drink?”

Sandor was sure there was a really loud snort from the part of the table where Sansa’s brothers were seating - and he could swear the sound was made by Robb or Rickon. Her third brother, Bran, was observing the whole dinner scene very quietly, at some point Sandor even forgot he was present.

“The tea will work for us,” Sansa smiled, looking at him. “Right, Sandor?”

He nodded, the burnt corner of his mouth twitching in a parody of a smile. Sansa was still looking at him, as if she was literally unable to take her eyes off of him, her deep blue eyes shining brightly. There was an annoying earlock on her forehead, and Sandor raised his hand to tuck it behind her ear without even thinking what he was doing. As if it was Sansa who made him do so, just with her sincere, glowing stare.

Lady Catelyn (or was that her sister?) cleared a throat very loudly, and Sansa flinched away, breaking the strange spell and blushed. Rickon (Sandor knew it was him) made a gagging sound, for which he earned a light cuff on the back of the head.

“Right, the  _ tea _ ,” Lady Catelyn announced, throwing some very effectual daggers at her youngest son.

The rest of the dinner went relatively calm. Sandor still had an irritating feeling of unease just being at the said dinner, but at least Sansa’s family was discussing other topics now. For sure it didn’t mean they’ve accepted him, but at least he was spared of annoying glances and pouting about poor little Sansa wasting her life one someone like  _ him _ . At some points Petyr Baelish was trying to start a  _ friendly  _ dialogue with him, but everytime he was cut off by someone, or Sandor simply ignored the bastard, pretending he was busy with something else.

Oh, and he was  _ good  _ at pretending, for sure.

When the dinner was over and a servant took away the cake plates, Sansa stood up, gripping his hand again.

“We are retreating,” she said very loudly, tugging Sandor’s hand.

“Maybe it still be wiser to offer Mr Clegane another room?” Lady Catelyn started, but Sansa made a very loud sniffing sound which made her mother to sigh and turn her attention to something else.

“Come on, Sandor,” Sansa whispered, leaning closer to his healthy ear. “Otherwise, someone will engage us in some very stupid conversation about our  _ plans for the future _ or something, and I am not ready to die of boredom.”

“Aye,” Sandor nodded, raising on his feet and following Sansa to her room.

He was sure someone was boring a hole in his back when they were leaving, and Sandor was suspecting Lady Catelyn or Baelish to do so, but he decided not to rule out an option it was the quietest Stark sibling. He was very strange, that Bran - Sansa mentioned earlier he had a childhood accident which made him bounded to his wheelchair for years, and Sandor was sure that time made Bran a little bit  _ different _ from the others.

Luckily, he was so tired and didn’t really give a fuck who was the person who was trying to burn a hole in his back with their intense stare, so he just climbed up the long stairs and only when he was back to Sansa’s bedroom he was able to exhale freely.

“Well,” Sansa giggled. “It went much better than I expected.”

“Same for me,” Sandor shrugged. “Just wasn’t expecting your father to faint - well, can’t say it wasn’t funny.”

“Sandor!” Sansa slapped his hand lightly, but her eyes still were mischievous. “Well, father was always a bit overreacting about everything regarding his children, but today he kind of  _ over-overreacted _ .”

“Can’t do anything about him,” Sandor shrugged, unbuttoning his shirt and looking around - Stranger was still sleeping on the window sill, his tail twitching from time to time.

At least his cat was enjoying himself in this mansion.

“By the way, I liked the story we made up about us getting together,” Sansa giggled again, moving to her bedside table and getting a make-up removing liquid. “You know, quite romantic one.”

“Ugh, especially the part where you fell in love with me just because I was able to see you who you are,” Sandor snorted. “ _ Very _ romantic.”

“Why not,” Sansa mumbled and turned away, but Sandor still was able to see her face going red.

_ Why was she getting so embarrassed of it? _

“Your family bought it, so I think we’re fine,” Sandor grumbled, feeling himself a little bit uncomfortably.

He still wasn’t sure what was  _ really  _ happening between him and Sansa, Sandor knew that the feelings and thoughts of her inside of his head were quite confused ones, making the whole pretending thing a little bit complicated from time to time, but the hell was happening with Sansa?

_ Could there be a chance she was able to develop even a tiny weak feeling for an ugly bastard like him?  _ Not at all.

“But Sandor,” Sansa finally started to speak again, grabbing her possessions and walking to the en-suite. “I am not sure if it was wise enough to make up a lie about your grandfather - I mean, my family won’t be happy at all to learn you tricked them.”

“It wasn’t a lie,” Sandor smirked. “My grandfather  _ was  _ a lord - well, some sort of a lord. But it was so many years ago that nobody would even pay any attention to it. Oh, and the only lie was about him giving everything up to help his country, but I don’t think it will be a very interesting story for you to hear before going to bed.”

“You’ll tell me later on, right?” Sansa smiled just with the corners of her mouth, but that was the one smile Sandor liked the most.

He nodded, and then Sansa disappeared behind the door. Sandor stretched his hands and started to get ready for a sleep. He heard from Lady Catelyn that tomorrow the rest of the family will eventually show up in the mansion, and that included the bunch of children as well. It just had to become the toughest Christmas Eve indeed.

When Sansa came back, Sandor quickly grabbed his spare shirt he decided to sleep in and went to the en-suite too. He took a quick shower, borrowing one of the sweet gels Sansa had (he would probably stink of a watermelon tomorrow, but Sandor never really cared about the smell of his shower gels too), then brushed his teeth and took the care of his scars. They weren’t oozing anymore, but Sandor decided to be more careful with his looks. Especially when he was in the house full of  _ good-looking  _ people, with Sansa being the prettiest.

When he returned back to the room, she was already asleep. Sansa was laying in her bed, hugging the pillow which was prepared for Sandor, and snoring lightly in her sleep. Sandor laughed quietly, turning the lights off and getting his pillow back very carefully, so he wouldn’t wake Sansa up. She tossed a little bit, but then became still, her breath calming down and a little smile appearing on her lips. She was smiling in her dreams, unbelievable.

But not as unbelievable as the fact she was spending the second night in the row in his bed. Well,  _ technically  _ it was her bed today, but she was sharing it with Sandor, and he had never ever in his life shared a bed with the beauty like Sansa was. Even if they were just sleeping.

It really meant nothing, but at some point Sandor felt himself as if he just won the biggest prize of the National Lottery.

_What a fool._


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what is happening...

“Tell me, Sansa,” her sister eyed them suspiciously. “Were those aliens?”

“Pardon?” Sansa blinked.

“The ones who kidnapped you, changed your mindset, and then brought back to our world?” Arya explained. “Otherwise I cannot explain the reason you decided to date  _ him _ .”

“And why this can’t be possible?” Sandor snorted, coming closer and embracing Sansa from behind, his chin on the crown of her hair.

Sansa, whose posture was a little bit tense since the arrival of Arya and her husband, relaxed straight away, leaning into Sandor.

“Because the teen Sansa was all about pretty stuff and handsome guys,” Arya stick her tongue as if wanting to show her disgust.

“Tell me, little sister,” Sandor narrowed his eyes and snorted. “Were those aliens?”

“What?” Arya frowned.

“The ones who kidnapped you, took your brain, and then throw you back to our world?” Sandor’s laugh was loud and reminded himself a bark. “Otherwise I cannot explain why you can’t understand the fact your sister isn’t a teen anymore, so  _ probably  _ her views on the life had changed?”

Arya moved her mouth in a silent  _ fuck off _ , as if she wasn’t able to curse properly as soon as she became married and entered the life of the high society.

“Sandor is right,” Sansa in his hands was totally relaxed now. “I mean, not about the alien part - but both of us grew up and changed, right? 

“Still can’t believe you are dating  _ him _ ,” Arya pouted, her hands protectively moving to her huge belly and covering it. “Besides, you didn’t mention anything about you dating this, um,  _ man _ to me at all, not even when I called you yesterday and told you about Harry.”

“I didn’t tell about us to anyone,” Sansa shrugged. “And I wasn’t sure until the last moment Sandor will be able to come with me, so there was no point for me to tell you anything about me coming to the Christmas gathering with my  _ boyfriend _ . Oh, and by the way, Sandor  _ is _ handsome.”

She raised her hand and covered Sandor’s fingers on her chest, giving them a light squeeze. Arya wrinkled her nose and pretended she wanted to flinch.

“I’d better go and find Gendry,” she muttered, turning away. “They’re telling that all future mothers should spend their time looking at  _ nice _ things.”

Sansa groaned helplessly. 

“Sandor, please, don’t take her too serious,” she whispered, turning her head a little bit, so she could see his eyes from her position. “Arya is always too harsh to every new person who is trying to become the part of our family. Probably she is considering you  _ will  _ become the part of it one day.”

“Remember, I have offered to propose to you in front of your family, so you can still ask for this option,” Sandor whispered back with a short laugh.

Sansa giggled, squeezing his hand, but didn’t move away from him. They were standing in the middle of the hall, his hands wrapped around her and slightly touching the bottom side of her breasts, and Sansa was still leaning into him, her face too close to his one. She didn’t break the eye contact between them, and at some point giggled again, this time more nervously. For sure she got too comfortable with his close presence, not flinching away even when they were alone. It was nice of her, yes, but these little actions were making the confusion in Sandor’s head even bigger than before.

Why she was touching and caressing him almost all the time when they were in front of her family?

Why she kept touching him when they were alone?

Why did she kiss him yesterday before the dinner when they were still in the hall, where nobody could spot them - unless, like poor Eddard Stark, they would try to sneak out of the room or just simply walk by the doorframe.

Why on the earth she asked him to continue their pretending, which involved all those caresses and kisses, straight after drunk and dumb Sandor almost… Well, almost  _ ravished _ her?

What was happening in Sansa’s head was making him  _ really _ confused. But at the same time, what was happening in Sansa’s head was giving him the tiniest of hope he ever had.

“Sandor,” she suddenly whispered, still looking him straight into the eyes.

“Aye?” he wondered, finally breaking the eye contact and watching her lips moving instead.

“I don’t know what I am doing,” she said quietly and licked her lips. “I really don’t know.”

Sandor’s brain was screaming that it had to be an invitation for another kiss, for sure. But the common sense (or was it self-loathing?), which was hiding somewhere deep in his soul, argued and insisted it was just Sandor’s imagination and nothing more.

Sansa Stark was a young, healthy, and very pretty woman. She was also funny and wise. And pretty. She was a total perfection, the same as a faceless  _ Sansa  _ from his old stories was. So there was no way she would be thinking of kissing him just because she  _ wanted _ .

But she did kiss him before the Christmas party started, Sandor reminded himself. But then it had to be just a simple training.

And then she was still kissing him during the party, but it was because of their act.

And then, when they finally arrived to his flat, she was kissing him - and  _ not only kissing _ , - but it was the alcohol acting, not Sansa.

And then she kissed his cheek at the train station, Sandor suddenly remembered, but shook his head - most probably she just spot Robb coming at their direction and wanted to tease her elder brother. Yeah, that had to be the reason.

“Sandor?” Sansa asked again, drawing Sandor out of his thoughts.

“Aye?”

“I’m sorry to ask, but can I…” she bit on her lower lip, averting her gaze. “Can I kiss you?”

“Why?” Sandor asked, feeling himself very dumb. She didn’t require any training now, learning how to kiss a man properly really quickly, and they were still all alone in one of the numerous halls of her parent’s mansion, so there was no reason for her to ask something like that.

“I don’t know,” she confessed, her whispering voice breaking at some point. “I just really want to kiss you, ugh…”

The hall they were standing in didn’t have the brightest lightening, but Sandor spot her ears and cheekbones to change their colour.

“Like, for training or something?” Sandor muttered, hoping his own face wasn’t setting on fire.

“No, I just want to kiss you,” Sansa’s face was completely red now. “Um, if you don’t want, please forget it. I mean, I kind of feel myself very dumb just for talking about it with you, and…”

She was really asking him to kiss her, whatever her inner motives were, so Sandor decided he had to obey, so he leaned down and covered her mouth with his, cutting her off in the middle of her ramblings.

Sansa made a tiny squeak, clutching on to his hand, and closed her eyes straight away. If Sandor didn’t have a chance to study her for a while, he could decide she was doing it because she didn’t want to look at him while they were kissing. But it was just a simple gesture which showed that Sansa was  _ enjoying  _ herself - she had that habit to close her eyes every time at the moments like this. God, she even was closing her eyes when she ate those tiny cakes which were served as a dessert!

And she definitely was  _ enjoying  _ herself now. She answered to his kiss, her lips moving in the same rhythm as his, and when she finally met his tongue with hers Sandor wasn’t able to refrain from a low groan. His hand moved unintentionally, caressing the bottom side of her breasts just a little bit more than before, but it was enough to make Sansa shiver and moan quietly. She moved a little bit, so now Sandor’s hand was touching  _ that part of her tits were the nipples were _ , and he  _ knew  _ they had already hardened, even if he wasn’t able to feel them through Sansa’s warm dress and bra.

Sansa made another one tiny moan, her free hand moving to up and caressing Sandor’s neck. Her soft body was still pressed into his, making his head swimming. But what was  _ really  _ making him weak was the fact that Sansa was doing all these things on her own will. She wasn’t drunk, she didn’t need to pretend, but she was kissing him eagerly, she was touching him as properly as she could do in her position.

It was sweet. But at the same time very strange. She told him she didn’t know what she was doing, but she kept insisting on this kiss anyway. 

_ What the fuck she was doing? _

“What the… The  _ hell  _ are you doing?”

Oh, of course her brother had to ruin the moment.

“Why the hell I am always the one who is running into you doing all this  _ inappropriate  _ stuff?” Robb Stark pouted, walking in their direction.

“You’re wrong, Robb,” Sansa giggled mischievously. She sounded as if she was drunk, but Sandor knew she didn’t have any alcohol today. “The last time I was just kissing Sandor in the cheek, so…”

“Doesn’t matter,” Robb grimased. “I still don’t have any desire to see my little sister doing all these…  _ things  _ with someone. Plus, you aren’t married.”

“Oh come on,” Sandor snorted. “As if you were patiently waiting for the opportunity to do the same  _ things  _ with your wife before your wedding.”

“But I did wait,” Robb shrugged.

“Oh,” Sandor raised his eyebrow. “Sorry to hear that.”

“Please, shut up”, Robb spit back. “Me and Roslyn married when we both were eighteen.”

“Then I am not sorry,” Sandor waved his hand, finally releasing Sansa from his embrace.

She made a little step away from him, fixing her hair, the grin on her face still present.

“I see I can’t give you any advices on this matter,” Robb sighed, observing Sansa as well. “Fine, but could you please start devouring each other behind the closed door next time?”

“Robb!” Sansa giggled, trying to feel scandalised. It didn’t work.

“Whatever,” Sandor shrugged, scratching the backside of his neck.

He was more than sure that Sansa will be able to realise  _ what she was doing _ , so there was no chance the said next time will happen.

“Oh, by the way,” Robb turned to his sister and almost mirrored Sandor’s gesture. “I spoke to Roslyn before bumping into you - well, she and the kids are coming here around six, but…”

“But what?” Sansa blinked.

“She will bring her father as well,” Robb grumbled.

“Ew, why?”

“Apparently he has a dice, which sides are resembling the number of his children, and then he chooses the victim whom he will be visiting for Christmas,” Robb stick his tongue out. “And this year the dice showed him Roslyn’s name.”

“What a misery.”

“Yeah,” Robb nodded. “So she will be here with our kids, her father, and his wheelchair, of course. I bet it will be the funniest Christmas gathering  _ ever _ .”

“Is her father the one who is making those lewd jokes all the time?” Sandor asked, remembering Sansa’s words from the party.

“That’s the one,” she nodded, bursting into laughter. “Well, so you will have a privilege to hear them yourself, I guess.”

“Still not sure if he will be able to beat Tormund,” Sandor shrugged.

“Who the hell is Tormund?” Robb frowned.

“The old guy from my work,” Sandor waved his hand.

“Oh,” there was a tiny surprise in Robb’s voice. “So you  _ are  _ working for Stannis Baratheon, right?”

“Aye, I am,” Sandor shrugged again. “Is there any issue with it?”

“Not at all,” Robb shook his head. “I mean, Stannis is considered an outcast among the establishment, but I don’t really pay attention to it - he is a great guy to work with. He even helped me when I was trying to open my own company.”

“Right,” Sandor nodded. “And what are you doing?”

“Oh, me and Theon started our first business recently!” Robb’s attitude was suddenly changed and he was beaming with pride. “Maybe you heard of the  _ Wolfeaters _ ?”

“The takeaway?”

“Exactly!” Robb was literally oozing with pride now. “Well, we are still a small business, but we are hoping to expand soon. Oh, and as you’re the part of my family now, I should give you a discount for our services.”

“But I haven’t proposed to Sansa yet,” Sandor shrugged, and his words made Robb freeze.

“So you were thinking to…  _ propose _ ?” he asked with an uncovered astonishment. “To Sansa?”

“I am still here, by the way,” Sansa pouted, crossing her hands on her chest.

“Um, sorry,” Robb mumbled. “Well, I think it will be great, but only if yours intentions are very serious, and…”

“Don’t worry,” Sandor snorted. “Anything about Sansa is serious enough.”

“Right,” Robb grumbled again, a shame in his voice. “I think I will retreat now, there are so many matters I need to think about…”

“Please share the news of Roslyn’s father arrival with everyone else,” Sansa giggled. “So they could brace themselves in advance.”

“I will,” Robb sighed and waved his hand. “Well, I’ll see you later.”

“Your brother is a little bit odd,” Sandor whispered when Robb was finally gone.

“I think he is just caring about me,” Sansa laughed. “You know, the same as our father.”

“Maybe,” Sandor replied. “But he’s still odd.”

“Maybe,” Sansa giggled. “Well, um, you know…”

She will probably ask him about the  _ kiss _ , Sandor thought. She was clearly enjoying herself before Robb interrupted them, but his arrival worked as a cold shower - and now she would complain that Sandor crossed a red line with all his caresses.

“Aye?” he asked, not moving from his place at all.

“I think everyone will be arriving now one by one, so it will be better for us to go downstairs - you know, to help my family with the greetings and other, well,  _ shit _ .”

“Maybe,” Sandor shrugged, wondering why Sansa didn’t ask him about the fucking  _ kiss _ . “But I don’t think I am the best person to greet the guests in your parents’ house.”

“Then I’ll go on my own,” Sansa mumbled, averting her gaze. “Um, you can still join me downstairs if you want.”

“I’ll come to you later on,” Sandor sighed. “But now I’d better check on Stranger.”

“Right,” Sansa nodded too eagerly, but she was still smiling at him, her blue eyes having a new, unknown emotion in them, and her cheekbones still red.

Sandor waved his hand and then she was gone.

Well, probably Sansa was right. She had  _ no fucking idea _ what she was doing, and most probably Sandor wasn’t the only person here who was confused about their actions. Sansa was like this as well - at first she was kissing him on her free will, leaning into him and moaning so sweetly, and then she was running away, trying to pretend nothing happened.

Sandor scratched his neck with a deep sigh and went to look for Stranger. The lazy cat was asking to let him go out of Sansa’s bedroom in the morning (thanks to him Sandor woke up early and realised that somehow his body was literally tangled with Sansa’s one), and after that no one heard of him. Sansa asked the kitchen workers to prepare some fresh food and water for Stranger in the afternoon, so the furball won’t starve for sure, but not knowing where he was made Sandor feeling uneasy.

He popped in Sansa’s bedroom, checked there just in case, but the cat was gone. The wanderings around the second floor were unsuccessful too. Sandor sighed and walked downstairs. He wasn’t really eager to meet with anyone from Sansa’s family now, but apparently he didn’t have any choice.

He found Stranger quite quickly - the cat was sitting in the entrance hall near the huge shoe stand. Next to him, Sansa’s little brother was seating on the floor, trying to drag Stranger’s attention. The cat looked quite unimpressed.

“What you’re doing here?” Sandor asked, coming closer.

Rickon flinched, the expression on his face turning into a disappointed one.

“Nothing special,” he mumbled, pushing some shoes under the stand before Sandor could take a proper look at them.

“Let me guess,” Sandor snorted. “You are trying to make my the most perfect and well-behaved cat to piss in someone’s shoes?”

“Nope,” Rickon answered, his ears becoming red.

“Alright, I won’t push on you,” Sandor shrugged. “Just one question, alright?”

Rickon cocked his eyebrow in a surprise.

“Yeah?”

“Whose shoes?”

“Uncle Petyr’s,” the boy mumbled, turning away from Sandor.

“Well,” Sandor stroke his chin. “Then I think Stranger can be not so well-behaved for once.”

“His name’s Stranger?” Rickon wondered, the shoes forgotten straight away. “Like, the character from the “Deathly Joust” series?”

“Aye,” Sandor nodded. “Well, Stranger the cat isn’t as deadly as his prototype, but he can scratch you the same.”

“You’re joking,” Rickon puffed.

“I’m not,” Sandor shrugged, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and showing the boy the long pinkish marks on the upper side of his hand. “You see those scars?”

“Alright,” Rickon agreed. “Your cat is a deadly monster. Oh, mister, maybe you want to play a match or two then? I mean, nobody in this house is into video games, and it’s really boring, you know.”

Sandor snorted.

“Well, I can play with you, but I can tell you straight away you don’t know anything about some of your family members.”

“I’m sure I know,” Rickon stick his tongue out. “After all, they are  _ my _ family.”

“Then, how about a bet?” Sandor raised his eyebrows up.

“And what will be the price?” the boy pouted.

“The winner will decide what to ask the loser for,” Sandor shrugged.

“Fine,” Rickon narrowed his eyes.

“And what are the rules?”

“Let’s see,” Sandor smirked, getting ready to finally have some fun. “If  _ any  _ member of your  _ family _ will be win ten matches out of ten while playing with you, it will mean I’ve won the bet. And otherwise. Deal?”

“Of course!” Rickon snorted. “But remember, mister, my price will be the high one.”

“Oh, I’m sure of it,” Sandor laughed.

Apparently, he had just found the better task for Sansa than the boring greeting of the guests. Oh yes, he was going to have some fun for sure.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I will be able to post anything before the New year's eve, so... happy New year in advance :')  
> Finally, things started to move were they _had_ to move ages ago...

He found Sansa in the enormously big living room. She was sitting there all alone in a huge chair, scrolling something on her mobile and biting her lower lip. Sandor wasn’t really sure if it was the best time to approach her now, but still moved quietly to her side and sat down on the couch next to her chair.

“Hey,” he started quietly.

Sansa raised her head instantly, looking at him. There was an unreadable and a little bit sad expression on her face, but as soon as she met Sandor’s eyes with hers, she smiled.

“Sorry, I came to hide here and was thinking to message you, so you could join me, but then my feed carried my away,” she said apologetically, puttin her mobile away.

“No worries,” Sandor shrugged. “Is everything alright?”

“Why are you asking?” Sansa frowned.

“Your eyes,” Sandor pointed at her face with his index finger. “They’re not beaming as usually. Plus, you were so excited to go and help your mother, and now you are saying you’re  _ hiding _ here.”

“Guess I am,” Sansa sighed, shrinking her head into her shoulders. “Well, I went to talk to my mom and see what I can do for her, but then… Then things didn’t went really well.”

“As in?”

“As in her attempts to make me feel more open towards Harry,” she sighed again, this time an irritation appeared in her voice. “Like, she knows I  _ am _ dating  _ you _ , and at the same time she is trying to set me up with Harry. I am sorry, but what the fuck is this?”

“And I hoped she kind of accepted me,” Sandor barked out a laugh. “Well, guess not.”

“She was always trying to make a proper lady out of me, and now she is asking me to cheat on my  _ boyfriend _ ?” Sansa’s eyes were throwing daggers everywhere. 

“Probably she hopes that one day we will break up,” Sandor snorted. “And then the Prince Harry Hardyng will come to rescue your broken heart on his white Maserati - or what the fuck he is driving now.”

“As if I know,” Sansa shrugged. “But well, in the end I had a very loud argument with my mom and hid here. Because I had enough.”

‘I can imagine,” Sandor sighed, moving a little bit closer and suppressing a very strong desire to comfort Sansa with a hug. “Your mother looks like she won’t stop in front of any difficulties if she wants something really bad.”

“Don’t know why this  _ something  _ should be my personal life,” Sansa mumbled, looking at her twined fingers. “As if I am a little girl and cannot decide to myself what to do.”

“You are not a little girl, but you a woman from the high society, that’s the problem,” Sandor shrugged. “They married your rebellious sister - of course now they want to marry you off as well.”

“At least we are not living two hundred years ago or something,” Sansa laughed bitterly. “Then I’d be forced to marry before Arya, which means by this time I’d be already tied to some old douchebag who won’t even like me.”

“It doesn’t really sound like something reassuring, but fine, I take this answer,” Sandor snorted. 

“And the worst thing is, my mom thinks that I will fall in love with Harry at some point,” Sansa screwed up her pretty face. “She has an example of Arya who fell in love with her husband, so now she is sure my union with Harry will be the happiest one later on.”

“But Harry is a little shit, and your sister’s husband isn’t.”

“That’s the point,” Sansa clenched her fists and there was a little tear appearing in the corner of her eye. “Everyone knows Harry is trying to shag every woman on his way - alright, every  _ willing  _ woman, but still. I can’t get why the hell my family doesn’t want to see me happy, because I  _ definitely  _ won’t be happy with a husband like Harry.”

“Then let me propose to you tonight,” Sandor offered. “Maybe then your parents will finally see that we are taking our relationship  _ seriously _ . Plus, that definitely will piss that Harry off. Oh, and Baelish as well.”

“If only we  _ had  _ that relationship,” Sansa whispered. 

"Pardon?" Sandor narrowed his eyebrows.

"Um," Sansa sighed, quickly wiping away an unwanted tear from her eye. "I am not really sure if it is a good time to talk about something like this now, but I've thought a lot about everything what is going now, and about our, um, pretending and stuff and well…" she sighed again, her knuckles white from the pressure she put in clenching her fists. "I wanted to talk to you seriously, Sandor…"

"Oh, which reminds me I wanted to talk to you as well," Sandor cut her off, finally setting his mind to the topic he came to the living room with.

"Yes?" Sansa blinked, her cheeks reddening again.

She was blushing too much those days. Was it her embarrassment about something she did or said? Was she ashamed of her family? 

"Well, long story short," Sandor scratched the back of his head. "I made a bet with your little brother, who considers himself the best gamer in the whole country." 

"Oh," Sansa said in a blank voice.

"I know it was stupid for an adult like me to be engaged with such activities, but at least I could have some fun," Sandor snorted. "Basically, the whole point of this bet is to prove any person from his family could kick his ass in a fighting game."

"And you want me to play with Rick?" 

"Aye," Sandor nodded. "But the whole point is for you to act as if you have no idea what even the controller is." 

"So," Sansa bit on her lip. "I will sit with Rick, pretend if I have never ever seen any fighting game, and then accidentally win all matches?"

“Exactly.”

“And what will be your price?”

“Your brother will have to fulfil my wish, but don’t worry, I am not looking forward to act as his mean brother-in-law,” Sandor chuckled. “Just will make him to learn he should never underestimate people around him.”

“I see,” Sansa nodded. “And what game are we going to play?”

“Probably the “Deadly Joust”, as our conversation with Rickon started because of this game.”

“Good,” Sansa clicked her tongue. “At least there are two or three characters I can choose to be my main ones, which means you can start thinking on your wish,” she grinned mischievously. 

“Alright, I’ll trust you in this matter,” Sandor laughed. “So, we dealt with my question to you - and what did you want to ask me?”

“Um, it wasn’t really important,” Sansa’s smile faded away and she was looking at her hands again.

“Why so?” Sandor frowned. “I mean, you were so nervous before, but so dedicated to ask me about something - so I am here to listen to you.”

“Because you are pretending you are my boyfriend?” Sansa laughed sadly.

“Not really,” Sandor shook his head. “Maybe because I kind of found a soft spot for you, as for my partner in crime and everything.”

“A soft spot?” Sansa’s eyebrows went up in surprise.

“I don’t know how to call that feeling,” Sandor shrugged. “Never experienced something like this, to be honest, but at least it’s a nice feeling.”

“Oh,” Sansa answered in a small voice, staring at him with her mouth slightly opened. And god, she was blushing  _ again _ , and that bloody blush was not making things easier at all.

“Aye, something like that,” Sandor blurted, feeling a deep and hot embarrassment running through his veins. “Anyway, tell me what you wanted to say before and let’s move to another subject.”

“Well,” Sansa chewed her lip, still staring at him. Her eyelashes were trembling, the mouth still opened in a very little shape of  _ o _ . “Well, I wanted to talk to you about, um, feelings.”

“Feelings?” Sandor repeated after her idiotically.

“Yeah, feelings,” her cheekbones were on fire again. Sandor had to admit this intense blush was making Sansa even  _ prettier _ , and he had no fucking idea how it was possible with a true beauty like her.

“Go on,” he cleared his throat, suddenly starting to getting worried about the whole conversation.

“I know we are pretending and everything,” she started, still looking at him, but it was more than sure Sansa had to take a really strong hold on herself not to move her eyes away. “Like, our friendship started because of this pretending, after all, so I think it’s a really good thing you mentioned it in our conversation and I suddenly volunteered - well, sometimes I am still asking myself what made me to do so, to be honest.”

“I thought it was your eagerness to visit the Christmas party with my colleagues?” Sandor frowned.

“Yeah, I really wanted to go there, and you know about it,” Sansa suddenly giggled, her nervousness stepping aside just for little bit. “But from the other hand, I am usually more restrained about things like that, so it would be natural for me to wish you luck with your attempts to find someone and ask you for a match, and then just go back to my normal life. But I decided to volunteer and god knows why it happened.”

“Then you were lucky enough you answered to my request, and not to one of some creep,” Sandor snorted.

“Oh yes, I was lucky,” Sansa smiled. “And well, I still am - after all, we were able to become some sort of friends, and that means a lot for me.”

So she really was considering them to be friends, and suddenly Sandor felt a deep and pleasant warmth inside his chest. He knew Sansa wasn’t lying, otherwise her ears would turn red as well, this little trait was working for each member of her family, at least the ones who inherited her mother’s looks. And she shared her story with him, not asking for anything in return - well, he ended up acting like her boyfriend  _ again  _ under her request, but it happened so suddenly and had nothing to do with her initial intention to tell Sandor who she really was. And she was always talking to him like a  _ friend _ , looking at him without a shiver, as if the left side of his face wasn’t disfigured, and she was embracing him without any fear, and kissing him, and…

Alright, the whole kissing thing wasn’t about what friends were for, but Sansa confessed to him earlier she was confused with her actions and her life, and Sandor was able to understand her. He was confused too, lately. And it wasn’t hard to get all confused about their behaviour because of this pretending thing, one minute he was holding her because his colleagues were looking at them, and the next one he was caressing her palms with his thumb because  _ he  _ wanted to do so.  _ He _ , Sandor Clegane, not an imaginable boyfriend of lady Sansa Stark. And sometimes he had a feeling she was doing the same. Touching him because  _ she  _ wanted to do so, not because of their roles. Embracing him, kissing him, moaning because of his touches.

“Well, alright,” Sandor mumbled and shook his head, feeling a little bit embarrassed. “I mean, I got your point about friends and everything, so what is your main concern? Or question? Or whatever you wanted to talk about?”

“About my feelings,” Sansa squeaked, finally breaking their eye contact and looking down on the floor. Sandor followed her gaze by instinct and realised her legs were trembling a little bit.

“And what about them?” he asked, trying to sound as calm as he was able to. Sansa was nervous and needed some reassuring words, and Sandor wasn’t the best person to provide them - but at least he tried to make her calm.

“I-I think I want to put our pretending on hold,” Sansa whispered, her face turning completely red.

“You want to tell your parents we were just acting?” Sandor asked with an unhidden surprise in his voice. “Wait, but then they will push you to accept that Harry the Fuckhead as your potential groom - and you’ve just told me some minutes ago you didn’t want him to ruin your future, right? Fuck, he  _ is _ a fuckhead, and you know he won’t respect you or put any efforts to make you happy, right?”

“Right,” Sansa nodded, moving her eyes back at him, an interest sparking in her gaze.

“So why the fuck are you telling me we should stop pretending?” Sandor felt his blood was heating up. Bloody hell, what was Sansa thinking about? 

“Because,” Sansa cleared her throat, her voice sounding very small again. “B-because maybe we should stop pretending - and try to d-date each other instead?”

She almost whispered the last words, but for Sandor they sounded like the loudest scream he ever heard.

“ _ What are you talking about? _ ”

His voice was sounding small too, at least comparing to the sound Sandor was used to. He felt his hands became were sweaty, and suddenly it was really hot in the room.

“I-I’ve just told you,” Sansa squeaked nervously.

Sandor closed his eyes. Counted until ten. Took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Well, Sansa didn’t disappear - she was still sitting in front of him in her huge chair, her face matching the colour of her hair, her hands trembling. Apparently, she was a little bit scared of what she’ve just told him, and maybe of his reaction - but Sandor was scared the same.

_ How on the earth the woman like her could ask a bastard like him about  _ dating _? _

“Why?” Sandor asked. It was everything he was able to deliver now.

“B-because of the feelings,” Sansa nervously licked her lips. “You’ve told me you have some soft spot for me you don’t have a name for, but it’s the same with me. You’ve become my friend, Sandor, but sometimes I was feeling so confused about my perception of you - like, you don’t want to k-kiss your f _ riend _ without a proper reason for it, right?”

“ _ Oh _ ,” Sandor grumbled. So she was the same as him, trying to understand her feelings and not having a proper idea what was happening with her. But still, they cases were  _ different _ .

Sandor started to have  _ certain feelings  _ for the smartest, funniest, prettiest woman he ever met.

And Sansa was telling him she was having similar feelings for  _ him _ . That was a very absurd idea, to be honest.

“I-I mean,” Sansa suddenly began to mutter. “It was so sudden, and I know that maybe I am trying to push on you, and m-maybe you d-don’t even feel about me the similar way I do about you, it’s f-fine. I know I can be too selfish sometimes, but I think I l-like you, so I just wanted to talk to you about this issue - I mean, shouldn’t even start this conversation at all, but I thought a lot about you and me, and today as well, but I am sorry if I disappointed you, s-so…”

“I think we can try,” Sandor cut her mumbling off, his eyes looking at Sansa’s pretty lips, at her little, but cute nose, at her hair, at her warm and cozy dress she decided to wear today - anywhere but not into her eyes.

“Try w-what?” Sansa uttered in a hoarse voice.

“Try this dating thing,” Sandor muttered. “I mean, we still be holding hands and stuff, so your family won’t suspect anything, but this time it will be a little bit…”

“A little bit different,” Sansa finished his sentence. She was still blushing, but at least her legs weren’t trembling anymore.

“Aye,” Sandor nodded. “Different, that’s the right word.”

He reached out his hand to touch Sansa’s one - and only then finally looked directly at her. Somehow she was sitting so close now, Sandor was even able to see his reflection in her deep blue eyes. But apart of his ugly face, he also saw there something beautiful, the mixture of nervousness, joy, and a feeling which was making the warmth in his chest to grow bigger.

The sensation of her lips on his was somehow different, the kiss they shared was the most innocent from all kisses they had before, but it was the sweetest kiss Sandor ever had in his life.

He decided he will keep on trying. And hopefully, he won't mess things up again.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains gaming, loads of it
> 
> I'm sorry for the late posting, the last couple of days were a bit busy irl with my friend coming over and other things at home :')

“How this thing even works?” Sansa asked with an unhidden surprise, fiddling with the console controller. Apparently, she took her task to act as a person who had no idea about the gaming world into the next level.

They were sitting in Rickon’s huge bedroom on the warm rug, Sandor’s back pressed to the edge of a bed, and Sansa’s back pressed to his chest. She made herself comfortable between his legs, so Sandor was embracing her from behind, feeling a little bit awkward. Well, their family knew they were  _ dating _ , and now he and Sansa were dating  _ for real _ , but it still was very awkward.

“Show her,” Rickon shrugged, turning away from Sandor and setting up the console.

“Um,” Sandor sighed, burying his face in Sansa’s neck and feeling himself the dumbest person in the world. “So, this is a gaming controller.”

RIckon made a loud snort.

“God, we won’t go far if you will start your explanation from there,” he clicked his tongue, seating himself near Sandor and Sansa. “Well, just push any buttons you wish, sis, maybe it will work for you.”

“I will try,” Sansa chirped, leaning into Sandor’s embrace and making herself even more comfortable, so nothing would distract her at the beginning of their spontaneous tournament. She was literally  _ too close _ , Sandor wanted to groan in frustration. 

Rickon skipped the intro and credits of the game, selecting the versus mode and nodded to Sansa.

"Now you need to choose the character you're going to play with."

"Right," Sansa went through all available options, selecting a young and handsome blonde. Rickon laughed at her choice, picking the character whose strength was based on heavy attacks.

"I knew you will get someone who will attract your eyes," he hummed, selecting the random location for their match. "So be prepared to lose your first ever game, sis!" 

"We'll see," Sansa replied sweetly, grabbing the controller firmly with both her hands.

Sandor tightened his embrace, putting his chin on Sansa's shoulder. Judging by her relaxed posture, she knew what she was doing. After all, Sandor has his own experience of getting his character's ass kicked the last time Sansa was playing the "Deathly Joust" with him.

Rickon laughed loudly, gluing himself to the screen.

“Round one, let’s go,” he mumbled, more than sure in his victory.

In less than forty seconds his character was already beaten up.

“That’s not fair, you were just smashing random buttons,” the boy glared at his sister with an envy.

“Sorry, Rick,” Sansa chirped with a smile.

“That was just a luck of a first-time player,” Rickon chewed his lip. “Anyway, you need to beat your opponent in two rounds to become the winner.”

“I see,” Sansa intoned. “Then, I need to beat you again and I will be the winner, right?”

“That’s not happening!” Rickon snorted. “Well, let’s go.”

He was trying so hard to take a firm hold of the match, even sticked his tongue out while pushing the buttons on his controller, but in the end Sansa’s character knocked his one cold with a special move.

“That was cool!” Sansa giggled, watching the cutscene. “So, I won, right?”

“You were just too lucky with your button smashing business,” Rickon grumbled.

Sandor hid his face in Sansa’s shoulder, trying to suppress his snort. Sansa was a very good actress, portraying a clear astonishment and masking sure movements of her fingers, so from Rickon’s side it really looked like she didn’t have any clue what she was doing with her controller. In reality it was completely opposite - Sansa knew all combination for specific moves by heart, kicking Rickon’s ass without any big effort.

“Maybe,” Sansa shrugged, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear. “Well, we need to play nine more matches, right?”

“Aye,” Sandor said, raising his head. “That was the deal, right, boy?”

“Right,” Rickon nodded, but this time with less enthusiasm than before. “But you’ll see, I will end up winning more matches than you.”

“Maybe,” Sansa shrugged again. The small movements of her shoulders and neck were so enchanting, Sandor decided not to miss out on a little pleasure and pressed a quick kiss on her bare creamy skin. Sansa giggled at his actions, her cheeks turning a little bit pinkish.

“Eww,” Rickon screwed his face up. “That was gross.”

“What was gross?” a voice behind them asked. Robb Stark was standing on the threshold of the bedroom, an unhidden interest on his face.

“These two are gross,” Rickon pointed his finger at Sandor and Sansa. “Like you and Roslin.”

“Me and Roslin  _ are not gross _ ,” Robb mumbled, feeling offended.

“Robb?” Sansa tilted her head to the side. “Are you looking for someone?”

“Not really,” her brother sighed. “More like trying to hide somewhere in a safe place.”

“What happened?”

“Roslin arrived,” Robb shrugged. “And our kids too. Well, she went to our bedroom so they can have a little bit of sleep before the dinner, so I decided to hide somewhere our parents won’t drag me to the living room when there are both uncle Petyr and old Walder Frey at the same time.”

“ _ Oh _ ,” Sansa answered, trying really hard not to start laughing. “So, the main stars of our Christmas dinner are already here, right?”

“Not yet,” Robb answered. “After all, Harry Hardyng is still on his way here.”

“Right, I kind of already forgot about him,” Sansa sighed.

“Of course you forgot, sitting here and making out with your boyfriend,” Rickon grumbled.

“We weren’t  _ making out _ ,” Sansa pouted. “And anyway, we need to play the rest of the matches before everyone will be called for a dinner, right?”

“Matches?” Robb cocked an eyebrow.

“Me and Sansa are playing video games,” Rickon explained, waving his hand with the gaming controller in it. “Some sort of a bet we made with her boyfriend.”

“ _ My boyfriend _ has a name,” Sansa hissed, but Rickon didn’t pay any attention to her words.

“But Sansa can’t play video games,” Robb shrugged. “Or are you trying to get a clean sheet for yourself?”

“She already won the first one,” Sandor answered proudly, placing another kiss on Sansa’s neck and earning her short giggle.

“Yeah, she won,” Rickon screwed up his face. “But I told her, I am going to get higher total score than her!”

“Good luck,” Sandor mumbled almost soundlessly. 

“I’ll sit here, alright?” Robb moved forward and seated himself on the other side of the bed. “I just wonder what the final score will be.”

“Nine to one!” Rickon announced, turning on the character selection screen again.

“Clean sheet for Sansa, I insist,” Sandor chuckled.

“It’s nice that you’re supporting your girlfriend like this,” Robb laughed. “But our little Rick is really crazy about gaming, so I doubt someone could win over him.”

“I already did,” Sansa proudly replied.

“It was just a luck of a first-time player, I’m sure,” Rickon mumbled.

“Maybe,” Robb agreed with him.

“And this time we won’t be picking our characters,” Rickon clicked on the button on the bottom of the screen. “The game will randomly pick up someone for both you and me.”

“That’s fine,” Sansa shrugged. “I will try to adapt to any character I will get.”

“We’ll see,” Rickon hummed, confirming the choices and background. “Alright, sis, here goes your defeat!”

Sandor watched with a thinly disguised smirk how Sansa beat him up twice for the second time and allowed himself to bark out a laugh when Rickon clenched his teeth in a disappointment.

“No more  _ nine to one _ for you,” Robb commented. “But god, Sansa is indeed lucky today.”

“I’m just randomly smashing the buttons,” she answered with an innocent smile, leaning to Sandor’s touch and welcoming another kiss from him. “That’s all.”

“But you’re really lucky today,” Rickon mumbled, turning off the cutscene and selecting random characters for both of them again. “Because I don’t have any other explanation for it.”

“Maybe it’s just you who isn’t in his best shape today,” Robb sighed. In the blink of an eye he was hit by a huge pillow which was laying on the floor near Rickon.

“Oh, don’t fight over it,” Sansa chirped. “And let’s play the next match! I’m kind of enjoying it.”

“I bet you will start hating video games after you will lose in the end,” Rickon snorted.

“It’s at least  _ eight to two _ for you now, boy”, Sandor smirked. “But I’m still insisting Sansa will win.”

“I like winning!” Sansa announced, turning around and kissing his cheek. Rickon groaned and Robb just chuckled lightly.

“By the way, what will the winner of your bet get?” he asked both Rickon and Sandor not without an interest.

“A wish!” the boy replied. “And I am sure I will come up with something unbearable for him.”

“For example?” Sandor raised his eyebrow.

“For example, I can command you stop kissing Sansa until the end of your stay here,” Rickon sticked his tongue out with a fake disgust on his face.

“You can,” Sandor nodded, trying to hide his mocking grin.

“And you aren’t objecting it?” Rickon narrowed his eyebrows.

“Not at all, it will be part of our bet, and we agreed to follow the rules,” Sandor shrugged. “From the other hand, you still won’t be able to command  _ Sansa  _ to stop kissing  _ me _ .”

Rickon made a loud and disappointing groan, turning away from them. Sandor decided to use this opportunity and placed another kiss on Sansa’s chin.

Kissing her now, after they finally got a more or less proper talk and decided to give a try to a  _ real  _ dating, was something which made the warm feeling in his chest grow bigger and bigger each time his lips were making a contact with any part of her bare skin. And when she was kissing him in reply, his chest was almost ready to explode. Never in his life Sandor could imagine he will have a proper girlfriend who will be eager to touch him, to kiss him, including his disfigured cheek, to lean to his touch. He was a grown ass man, he had already accepted ages ago the fact women won’t lay down at his feet and confess their feelings to his ugly face. Well, Sansa didn’t really  _ confessed  _ anything, she just said she liked him and that his presence was confusing her and that she always had a thought of kissing him, but it was more than enough for Sandor. And she actually was kissing him almost every time she had a possibility to do so now, making her little brother disgusted by their behaviour.

Well, that was clearly his problem, Sandor decided, placing another kiss on Sansa’s cheek. It was so nice to hold her in his hands, embracing her and kissing her, and  _ meaning  _ all of those things. Maybe he was becoming a real fool, but Sandor didn’t really care. Someone was trying to give him a chance to feel himself happy, even if for a short period of time, he couldn’t tell well Sansa will be fed up with him, but he decided to use this given time to the full.

_ If only she would never fed up with him. _

Sandor was dragged out of his thoughts by Sansa’s cheerful laugh and Rickon’s dissatisfied mumbling. Apparently, she won another match, still having the clear sheet, and her little brother didn’t take it well.

The fourth and fifth match went the same way, with Sansa controlling the game and smashing Rickon’s characters at ease.

“She already got five wins, Rick,” Robb sighed, his head reclined upon his hand. “Which means either you are winning the rest of the matches and get a draw, or you will lose your bet.”

“It’s not about the bet anymore,” Rickon grumbled, clinging to his controller. “Sansa is  _ really  _ lucky today, but now I just don’t want her to have a clean sheet.”

“Aye, it would be so sad to win to the amateur,” Sandor laughed, receiving a light smack from Sansa.

“Don’t be a ruffler,” she giggled, leaning closer and whispering into his ear. “Maybe I should let Rick win at least for the last match?”

“It’s up to you,” he replied back quietly as well.

“What are you two discussing there?” Rickon frowned.

“Nothing,” Sandor shrugged. “At least, nothing interesting for  _ you  _ \- I bet you will be spending today’s dinner with a disgusted face if you knew  _ what  _ we were discussing.”

“Eww!” Rickon announced loudly. “What have you done to my sister, she was never discussing gross things before with anyone.”

“These are not gross things, you’re just too young to understand,” Robb mumbled, the signature for his family blush appearing on his face.

“I’m old enough to know they’re discussing their gross fu…”

“Rickon!” Sansa cut him off loudly. “Please, watch your mouth, young man!”

“Don’t try to sound like mom,” Rickon rolled up his eyes. “Mom would never act like this in public.”

“But I am not our mom,” Sansa shrugged, waving her hand.

“And now you’re sounding like Arya ages ago,” Rickon noted. “But being rebellious doesn’t suit you.”

“Because Sansa is not her sister,” Sandor drew her closer to him, caressing his thumb over her wrist. “Sansa is Sansa, and you need to accept her as she is, understood?”

“I don’t want to accept both of you making out in front of me,” Rickon made a wry face.

“They are not  _ making out _ ,” Robb groaned from his place.

“But we can, if you wish so,” Sandor winked, squeezing his hands around Sansa’s waist and making her giggle.

“God no,” Rickon coughed. “Mom told us we will have a chocolate and pistachio cake tonight, and I want to survive before the desert will be served.”

“Then sit quietly and don’t mention making out anymore, right?” Sandor clicked his tongue, frowning.

“Right,” the boy mumbled, turning his gaze to the screen.

“Let’s have the next match,” Sansa offered peacefully. “We still have five of them to go, right?”

“Right,” Rickon sighed loudly, sounding not really impressed.

  
  


***

  
  


The tournament ended up with Sansa winning nine matches out of ten. Apparently, she didn’t want to make her little brother too unhappy and intentionally lost the last game.

“Not a clean sheet!” Rickon announced loudly, trowing away his controller and throwing up his arms in a victorious way.

“Still, Sansa won the rest of them,” Robb pointed out. “And she is an amateur, you know?”

Rickon mumbled something not really nice and turned off the console and the TV.

“Right,” Sansa put away her controller too, turning over to face Sandor, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “I guess, I earned my own prize for this game?”

“Of course you did,” he smirked, leaning forward and finally giving her a  _ proper  _ kiss, the little pecks already forgotten. Sansa hummed happily, kissing him in reply, her pretty little tongue brushing over his lower lip.

“E-w-w,” Rickon loudly stated. “Don’t leave your gross vibes in my room,  _ pretty please _ .”

Sansa giggled, breaking the kiss and looking at Sandor with an overwhelming tenderness in her eyes.

“Rickon’s right,” she nodded, not even looking at her brothers, her stare glues to Sandor. “We’d better be going.”

“The dinner will start soon,” Robb cleared his throat, trying to catch their attention.

“I know,” Sansa nodded, placing a quick kiss on the burnt side of Sandor’s mouth and finally turning her gaze to Robb. “But I guess we need to get dressed for the gathering more properly, right?”

Sansa was already wearing a very nice dress, the deep blue colour almost matching her eyes at some points of her mood, and the woollen fabric being the most perfect choice for the winter - plus, it was just  _ flawlessly  _ accentuating her figure, Sandor couldn’t even imagine her wearing something different for the dinner on the Christmas eve. He tried to tell her so, but Sansa gave him a  _ look  _ and give a tug at his hand.

“We need to  _ prepare ourselves _ , Sandor,” she sung sweetly, her eyes matching the colour of her dress.

“Yeah, mom will be happy if you will look really presentable,” Robb peeped in, ruining the whole atmosphere. “So make sure both of you will have your best clothes on, otherwise, aunt Lysa will be discussing your disgraceful behaviour until the next Christmas.”

Sandor wanted to tell him he had already worn his  _ best clothes _ yesterday, but Sansa was already on her feet and gave him another firm tug, so he just nodded and stood up, taking her hand in his and squeezing it lightly.

“We’ll see both of you at the dinner,” Sansa chirped, almost running to the door, dragging Sandor with her. There was a mischievous smile on her face again, and Sandor had no idea what she was planning to do now.

But fuck it, he would willingly agree to anything Sansa could offer him. That what Sandor was more than sure of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wonder what Sansa is up to...


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me in the beginning of December: yay, I'll write a fanfic full of fluff and joy, and I won't make it big, like, 30k will be the maximum amount of words, I swear!  
> Me now: h a l p

Sansa brought him back to her bedroom, locking the door behind them.

“Um,” Sandor chewed his lower lip, allowing Sansa to drag him to the bedside. "I thought we were supposed to prepare ourselves for the dinner?" 

"We will," she nodded, pushing him to the bed. "But first, we need to finish some important things."

"Like what?" Sandor blinked. He ended up sitting on the edge of her huge bed, and Sansa currently was busy making herself comfortable on his lap.

"Like kissing," she giggled, her pretty blush appearing on her cheekbones again. "I mean, we are dating now, so I really want to get a chance to kiss my boyfriend properly, without any little brothers screwing their faces up in front of me."

" _Oh_ ," Sandor managed to breath out, before Sansa put her hands on his massive shoulders and leaned forward, kissing him.

Apparently Sandor was right, she _really_ liked to spend her time kissing him. Sandor already knew about her poor experience before their fake-dating, but even then Sansa was quite eager to lean into him and kiss him, as if his lips were some sort of the magnets. And now, when they were dating for _real_ , Sansa completely lost the control over her thoughts and actions.

Not that Sandor was complaining, not at all. Sitting on her bed with Sansa snuggling on his lap, feeling her sweet and hot mouth on his one - well, only a fool would complain about something like that. Sandor groaned, his hands moved on Sansa’s hips, caressing them lightly. He opened his mouth and felt Sansa shivering at the same moment his tongue met hers. Sansa sunk her nails into his shoulders, her other hand travelled to Sandor’s hair, her fingers tangling at them instantly.

“We need to get ready, Sansa,” Sandor groaned when she finally broke their kiss, moving her soft lips to his chin.

“But we will,” she tried to chirp sweetly as she always did, but her ragged breathing gave up her arousal. “Please, I just want to kiss you a little bit more.”

She was trying to stay calm, but somehow her voice managed to sound _pleading_ . Never a beautiful woman like her _begged_ Sandor for anything, especially sitting on his lap and panting into his ear, her lips brushing over the rough skin of his cheek. Fuck, she was making him powerless, his cock twitched in his trousers not without an interest.

But it wasn’t a perfect timing for anything like that. Firstly, they had a family dinner upcoming, and both Sandor and Sansa had to look _presentable_ in front of Sansa’s extended family. And secondly - and most importantly, Sandor had to talk with her before they could proceed to anything less innocent than deep kisses and light caresses. He didn’t want to lose his head and get an advantage over her again, especially that they were dating for real now. And he had to have a proper conversation with Sansa regarding all those words she said to him in between her cries that night at his flat. It looked like she had some not really pleasant experience with her previous boyfriends (how the fuck they could be called her boyfriends if they didn’t even kiss her properly?), and Sandor wanted to be sure she will welcome him with her mind clear and no fear or doubts present between them.

But now Sansa wasn’t really in the mood of talking about something serious like her traumatic experience or whatsoever. She was making some quiet sounds full of plea, her lips moving back to the corner of his mouth, her pink tongue caressing his lip again. She wasn’t drunk like before, but she definitely didn’t have any control over her actions anymore, and it was so strange for Sandor to think that it was _him_ who made Sansa act like this, as if she was a loose woman who didn’t want to stop in front anything to get his kisses and touches.

“We can’t go further now, Sansa,” Sandor cleared his throat, his hands laying still on her hips. “It’s not the best timing for anything else than kisses, right?”

“Right,” Sansa nodded, looking at him with all the seriousness she was able to show at this moment. “But we are just kissing, aren’t we?”

Sandor wanted to tell her that no, she wasn’t just kissing him, her hands were pulling his hair and scratching his neck, her quick breath was making his head swim, and she was wiggling on his lap, not even able to sit still and give him _just kisses_ \- but in the end he just nodded to her words, feeling the unusual hotness creeping to his cheeks.

“Then I don’t see any issue here,” Sansa _purred_ , attacking his mouth again.

Sandor closed his eyes and groaned helplessly. Alright, he had lost, now he just had to simply surrender and proceed with all those hot and gorgeous kisses, which were turning on both of them. He kissed Sansa back, and a tiny mewl she made at his actions made Sandor’s blood heat up. One of his hands moved all the way down Sansa’s leg, until he reached the end of her dress. Sandor squeezed the warm fabric in his fist, earning an approving moan from Sansa, and when his fingers touched the bare skin of her leg, Sandor was finally able to breath out. He didn’t even notice when he stopped breathing, mesmerised by Sansa’s kisses, by Sansa’s beauty, by Sansa herself seating on his lap and making out with him so passionately his chest hurt from the warmth, which now turned into the real heat.

His traitor of the cock was already half-hard in his trousers, and for sure Sansa was already able to feel him, being almost squeezed into his body. But she didn’t flinch away, she didn’t stop anything - Sandor could have sworn that at some points between their kisses she even tried to move even _closer_ to his crotch, and that was unbelievable. 

Pretty lady Sansa Stark trying to rub herself at his cock, while being locked on her childhood room on the fucking huge mansion on her parents. What a surrealistic picture it was.

These weren’t _just kisses_ anymore, but Sandor tried his best not to lose his mind completely. He didn’t move his hand away from the bare skin on her leg, that’s true, but he proceed with kissing her greedy mouth, successfully chasing away the thoughts of anything more than that.

Sansa moaned again, this time more loudly than before. Her eyes had the darkest shade of blue Sandor ever saw, and even after the kiss was broken, she was constantly licking her lips, her gaze moving from Sandor’s mouth to his temple, and from there to his neck, as if she was trying to decide where she should kiss him next.

“Only kisses,” Sandor reminded her, his voice hoarse.

Sansa nodded eagerly, opening her mouth and wanting to chirp her sweet reply, but she was suddenly cut off with a loud knocking on her door.

“Sansa, dear, are you there?”

_The fuck?_

“What the fuck bloody Baelish wants from you _now_?” Sandor hissed, frowning.

“I don’t know,” Sansa whispered, sounding confused. Her hands were still clinging to his hair and neck, but the greedy darkness had faded away from her eyes. “But I’d better open the door, otherwise he will go and complain to my mom.”

“Fine,” Sandor groaned, letting her go and helping to adjust her dress, so it won’t look too mussy. “Should I hide somewhere in the ensuite, so there won’t be any rumours spread by your _beloved uncle_?”

“Why?” Sansa looked at him with a sincere confusion. “You’re my boyfriend, and you have all the rights to be in my bedroom, and the fuck with my _beloved uncle_ and his rumours.”

Sandor snorted, letting her go completely. He stand on his feet, walking to the opposite side of the room where his backpack was. He had to think about his clothes for the dinner anyway.

“Uncle Petyr?” Sansa opened the door, greeting Baelish. Sandor knew she were smiling, but her sound lack any joy.

“Oh, Sansa,” but there definitely was a joy in the bugger’s tone. “It’s so good to see you here! I wasn’t able to find you anywhere in the house, and you weren’t opening your door straight away - believe me, I was getting worried about you!”

“We are preparing for the dinner, uncle,” Sansa answered, putting a very strong emphasis on that _we_ that Sandor felt the already well-known warmth returning into his chest.

“Oh,” Baelish hummed, looking around the bedroom and finally registering Sandor’s presence. “So your _boyfriend_ is here, right?”

“Of course I am,” Sandor snorted, crossing his hands on his chest. “Where else should I be, if not with Sansa?”

“Of course, of course,” Baelish smirked. “Anyway, that’s even better, as I was looking for you as well.”

“Oh?” Sandor cocked his eyebrow.

“You wanted to talk to Sandor?” Sansa was surprised by that turn of events as well.

“Yes, darling,” Petry sighed, stepping into the bedroom. “Actually, I wanted to talk to _both_ of you, as the subject of my concern is your relationship.”

“Pardon?” Sansa frowned, her voice becoming completely blank.

“You see,” Petyr sighed again, looking at Sansa with a pity. “Sometimes women are really easy to be tricked, my dear Sansa. Especially when these are the women from the high society, raised as a perfect young ladies, who believe in fairytales and that one day they will meet the most perfect man whom they will be able to marry.”

“I don’t understand?” Sansa crossed her hands in front of her as well, looking at Baelish with a clear mistrust. Sandor’s body tensed and he made couple of steps forward to get a little bit closer to Sansa.

“Fortunately for all of us, I have a proper connections across the whole country,” Baelish smirked, eyeing Sandor with an uncovered diaffection. “And they were able to find out that your _dear boyfriend_ is, in fact, a liar.”

“ _Pardon_?” Sansa repeated, but this time there was a thick ice in her voice.

“Oh yes, darling,” Baelish shook his head in a disapprovement. “I checked with all possible societies, including the Heraldry one, and, apparently, no one ever heard about any lord in the history of our country who shared the same last name with your _boyfriend_ . So, I guess, we have a liar here. He simply used his wicked mind to drag you into a _vicious relationship_ , using you as a naive little girl and ruining your life with his dirty hands of a commoner.”

Sandor blinked. And blinked one more time. And then he bursted out in a laughter, trying to suppress the tears which appeared on the corners of his eyes.

“Are my words a joke to you?” Baelish frowned. Most probably he expected Sandor to start arguing, or at least to deny his words - but the laughter definitely threw him out of his stride.

“I am _so_ sorry, _Lord_ Baelish,” Sandor replied after he was able to get hold of his laughter. “But it looks like your sources are just a little bit incapable of making any researches, let’s be honest.”

“Then what it is with the lack of any lord who would have your last name, huh?”

“Ugh,” Sandor took a deep breath, quickly wiping away the tears from his eyes. “You see, I’ve told you the story of my grandfather yesterday, and what I mentioned was the fact that he gave all his possessions and wealth for the country, right?”

“Right,” Baelish nodded, looking confused.

“Which meant he became some sort of a philanthropist, let’s call him like that. Right?”

“Right,” Baelish nodded again. “Though I don’t see any reason why you would tell me all this.”

“You see,” Sandor shrugged. “My grandfather wasn’t a man who would like to be called a bloody philanthropist - or be praised for his actions, well, he literally _hated_ being praised for anything.”

“And?” Baelish raised his eyebrows.

“And as soon as he was stripped of all his titles, he simply changed his last name, so there won’t be any traces to his real heritage. Simple as that,” Sandor snorted. “Which leads to my words that your _proper connections_ are incapable to dig any valuable information, sorry to point at this fact.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Baelish pouted. His face reddening slowly, Sandor started to get afraid he will get a stroke or something right in front of them. “Well, looks like this time I made a _mistake_.”

“No worries, _uncle_ ,” Sansa peeped in, but there was no compassion in her voice at all.

“Oh,” Baelish sighed once again, turning to Sandor. “I _deeply apologise_ for all my words, Mr Clegane. Apparently, I didn’t have to jump to a quick conclusion after getting the news.”

“Apparently,” Sandor nodded, being completely unimpressed with his apologies.

Baelish groped for a napkin in the pocket of his jacket and wiped a sweat from his temple.

“I’m so sorry to distract you from your preparations,” he mumbled, making a step back. “It will be better for me to retreat.”

“We will see you at the dinner, uncle,” Sansa peeped, stepping forward and making sure Baelish went away, before she closed the door and turned the little lock under the handle.

“What a bloody twat,” Sandor snorted, stretching his hands.

“I’m so sorry,” Sansa sighed, throwing up her hands.

“Why should _you_ be sorry for the prick like him?” Sandor raised his eyebrow. “He isn’t even related to you by blood, but I’m sure I wouldn’t give any damn even if he was.”

“You’d still like me?” Sansa giggled, slowly approaching him and leaning into his embrace.

“Aye,” Sandor nodded, running his fingers through her hair. “After all, I am dating Sansa Stark, not bloody Baelish.”

Sansa giggled again, raising herself on tiptoes and catching his mouth with hers. Sandor answered to her kiss with a pleasure, one of his hands starting to stroke her back lightly.

“But we _should_ start preparing for the dinner anyway,” he whispered between their kisses, Sansa’s hands locked around him, her thumbs caressing the back of his neck

“We should,” she agreed and pressed an open mouth kiss on the corner of his lips. “Later on.”

“And here’s our lady Sansa Stark,” Sandor snorted, his hand moved down and palmed her little round arsecheek. “Being a dutiful daughter as always.”

“Oh come on!” Sansa giggled, leaning forward and kissing him again, moaning in approval when Sandor’s another hand started to stroke her neck. She was always making such really nice sounds every time he was touching her neck, Sandor decided to pay a proper attention to it the next time when, hopefully, both he and Sansa will have less clothes on.

He was kissing her, feeling an unusual lightness in his body, Sansa’s moans so loud his fingers were trembling just because of them.

“Sandor,” she gasped, breaking their kiss and licking her lips. “Sandor, I really want you to…”

_Someone. Fucking. Knocked. On. The. Fucking. Door. Again._

“Let’s pretend we aren’t here,” Sandor groaned quietly, burying his face in the base of her neck.

“But what if that is my mom?” Sansa protested, but she looked very disappointed with this turn of the events as well.

  
“Then I’ll open the buggering door and will explain her that her precious daughter is _busy_ with her _boyfriend_ ,” Sandor mumbled, letting Sansa go and moving to the door, unlocking it and opening it wide.

But it wasn’t lady Catelyn.

“Oh,” the tall blonde in front of him looked really confused, eyeing Sandor from the head to toe. 

“How can I help you?” asked Sandor _too politely_. If the bugger wasn’t able to recognise the sarcasm in his words, it was his own problem.

“You’re not Sansa Stark,” the guy mumbled.

“Thanks for noticing, I’ve already started to doubt myself,” Sandor snorted, crossing his hands in front of him and leaning against the doorpost. “What do you want?”

“Um, well,” the guy mumbled, feeling himself rather awkward. “I was told I will be able to find Sansa Stark here and escort her for the dinner… Well, sir, let me introduce myself - count Harrold Hardyng. It’s really nice to meet you,” he even extend his hand for a handshake.

“Oh?” Sandor cocked his eyebrow, looking at the poor lad with an unhidden interest.

There was a loud sigh from the direction were Sansa was standing. Sandor could imagine here waving her hand in disappointment, her pretty nose screwed up in the disgust and her eyes throwing daggers at some very smart members of her family, who had some guts to ask fucking Hardyng to escort Sansa to the dining room.

  
Things were _definitely_ getting better and better.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christmas dinner [1/2]  
> I feel myself too tired these days, so well, I decided to split Sandor's misery into two parts...  
> I'm not a member of the Anglican church, so I took the quote from the web - please tell me if it's an incorrect one :')

“Sandor, can you please pass me a lemon cake?” Sansa chirped sweetly.

“Aye, sure,” Sandor grumbled, grabbing a plate with tiny cakes and handing it to Sansa’s cousin’s boyfriend who was sitting next to him. “That’s for Sansa.”

The lad nodded, taking the plate and presenting it to Jon.

“That’s for Sansa,” he nodded in the direction where Sansa was seated.

Jon took plate with both his hands and handed to his aunt, who was sitting right in front of him.

“Sansa asked  _ Sandor  _ to pass her the lemon cake,” he said, emphasising Sandor’s name. “So that’s for her.”

Lady Catelyn moved the poor plate to her daughter, who was sitting by her left side.

“Lemon cake,” she announced. Sansa smiled and put a good piece of it on her table and nodded to the side of the table where Sandor was sitting.

“Thank you!” she smiled, locking her eyes with his. Sandor nodded and sighed, tapping his fingers on the table.

“Pathetic,” a creaky aged voice grumbled next to him.

Sandor really wanted to cover his face with his palms and groan, but currently he was in the middle of the  _ happy Christmas dinner  _ organised by the Starks, and it would be not really nice towards Sansa if he suddenly started complaining about all the things which were happening around him.

When they entered the dining room, Sansa’s thumb lightly caressing his palm, she dragged them to the places were they were sitting during the previous dinner.

“Excuse me,” aunt Lysa suddenly interrupted, clearing her throat. “But you see, we were arranging this dinner for  _ months _ , which means everything is planned and all seats are already assigned. We don’t have a place prepared for you, Mr Clegane, but there will be a spare sit on the left side of the table.”

“Oh,” Sansa pouted. “By Sandor is my boyfriend, and…”

“And you are supposed to seat here,” Lysa pointed to the place on the right side of the table, next to the central seats which were reserved for Eddard Stark and his wife. “Surrounded by your family.”

“But aunt Lysa,” Sansa squeezed Sandor’s hand. “I don’t see any reason why I need to be separated from my boyfriend, who can become my  _ fiance  _ any time.”

“Good,” Lysa nodded, crossing her hands on her chest. “We will talk about the changes in our arrangements when he will become your fiance. But now you should sit with your  _ family _ .”

Sansa frowned and wanted to object her aunt’s words once again, but Sandor calmed her down, putting his hand on her shoulder and patting it.

“Let’s just act as they want,” he whispered in her ear. “This way we will be able to have a nice and quiet dinner, and maybe even retreat earlier - they won’t pay too much attention to us if we will  _ behave _ .”

Sansa sulked and sighed loudly.

“Fine,” she mumbled, her voice full of offence.

Sandor squeezed her shoulder and placed an open-mouthed kiss on her lips, making sure her aunt saw it clearly.

“So,” he straightened his back and looked at Lysa. “Where will be my place?”

And it was when he was finally shown his place when the shit became real, as the guests finally started to fill in the dining room.

Well, at the beginning it wasn’t that  _ bad _ , the seats on the right were prepared for Sansa’s cousin Jon and his boyfriend, Sandor quickly managed to find common ground with them, as both of them had recently graduated from their University and now had degrees in British History. Sandor wondered, if it was Jon who kind of affected Sansa’s interest in all the historical stuff, but decided not to discuss this subject for now. After all, he wasn’t really sure if Sansa had shared her hobbies with her cousin.

The seats in front of him were taken by Robb and his son, and his wife had to be seated one sit apart from Sandor with her daughter on her lap.

“Strange they left my place empty,” Sandor wondered, checking the rest of the table. “And I’m sure one of your brothers could easily switch seats with me, so I can sit next to Sansa.”

Jon and Satin exchanged glances.

“Um,” Jon leaned forward, tugging Robb’s sleeve and almost whispering. “You didn’t tell Sandor?”

“About what?”

“About the reason why Rick or Bran won’t be sitting next to us this year.”

“Um,” Robb mumbled, his ears turning red in a second. “No?”

“Excuse me, but what this shit is about?” Sandor asked, trying to act calm.

In the back of his mind he started to suspect something  _ outrageous  _ to happen.

“I think they reserved this place for the ol’ good Walder,” Satin snorted. "Because you, usually it's better to not seat anyone next to him, unless it's Roslin."

"Yeah, she's his daughter after all," Jon mumbled, averting his gaze.

"Wonderful," Sandor snorted. “Basically, I was exiled, right?”

“I think aunt Lysa was telling the truth when she was telling you about the assignments,” Robb shrugged. “They do it every day, last year there were some ugly drawn cards with the picture of Santa of them, and there were the names of people who had to sit on one or another place.”

“Don’t tell your father you called his drawings  _ ugly _ ,” Satin whispered with a smirk.

“A-all right,” Robb mumbled, taking his glass of water.

Sandor laughed at this exchange, preparing himself for all the sufferings he could endure during the dinner. He had to do it for Sansa, he told himself. They will have their dinner, drink some cups of tea, and escape this madness.

Shit got real when the last members of the family and guests finally took their places at the table.

“What the actual  _ fuck _ ?” Sandor whispered loudly, throwing daggers at bloody Hardyng. The blonde prick was happily sitting on Sansa’s left side, trying to engage her into a conversation. “I was told she will be sitting with her  _ family _ .”

“Apparently the older generation was planning to seat them like this ages ago,” Jon shook his head. “After all, they invited Harry while imagining themselves as the best matchmakers in the whole Britain.”

“Yes, but now she has a  _ boyfriend _ ,” Sandor spat, narrowing his eyes. “And if there was a place for Sansa’s potential  _ boyfriend  _ by her side, it should be  _ my _ place.”

“Just go and ask him to fuck off politely?” Satin offered. “After all, Sansa doesn’t look happy for having him as her neighbour.”

“But look at aunts and uncles,” Jon sighed. “ _ They _ are happy for Sansa being seated with Harry.”

“But still,” Satin argued. Apparently, when he was angry or flustered with something, his accent was showing up. “Sandor is her  _ boyfriend _ .”

“I don’t think it will be the right choice to go and have an argument with that little shit now,” Sandor sighed, averting his eyes from Sansa and  _ that little shit _ . “And I don’t want to ruin Sansa’s relationships with her family, to be honest. Well, apart from Baelish, of course, but he isn’t her only relative here.”

“What a nice young gentleman,” the old Walder Frey rasped from his wheelchair, making Sandor flinch. “Tell me, has the cat got your balls?”

Robb choked on his water and hurried up to cover the ears of his son.

“Father!” Roslin coughed, blushing. “It’s  _ tongue _ .”

“And from this gentleman the cat got some nice  _ balls _ ,” Walder Frey insisted. “Otherwise, he wouldn’t be sitting here and watching his girlfriend spending a nice time with another young man.”

“I don’t think Sansa is having a nice time now,” Jon commented. Sandor cast a quick look at her side - she was sitting there with a blank expression, her back straight and her sight bored. Hardyng was trying to cheer her up, laughing at his own jokes, and, judging by the way Sansa’s eye started to twitch, his jokes had to be horrible.

“Still,” Walder Frey shrugged and turned away from Sandor. “What a  _ pathetic  _ young man.”

“Harry?” Robb raised his eyebrows.

“ _ Him _ ,” his father-in-law pointed his finger at Sandor.

“Father,” Roslin was almost hissing now. “ _ Please _ .”

Sandor took a deep breath and promised himself he will stay calm. It was a Christmas eve, a whole family gathered at the huge table, and it definitely wasn’t a place for a massacre.

The food was served soon, and Lady Catelyn announced it was a time for a pre-meal prayer.

“We don’t usually pray,” Robb explained to Sandor, leaning a little bit forward. “But it’s Christmas, after all, so this is some sort of a tradition.”

“Got it,” Sandor nodded. He wasn’t a religious man, so it didn’t play a huge role for him, but he had to accept the rules of the house he was currently staying in.

Eddard Stark cleared his throat - apparently, as the master of this house, it was him who was always reciting the prayer.

“Wait a minute,” Baelish suddenly interrupted, his voice oozing honey and poison. “As our family is about to expand, I think it will be fair to give an opportunity for an almost new addition to this household to say the prayer before the meal. You know, for the purpose of the  _ bonding _ .”

“You mean Mr Clegane?” Eddard raised his brows, and suddenly all eyes where on Sandor.

“Exactly,” Baelish nodded with a fake smile. “Well, he is coming from a  _ noble  _ family, so if he will marry our dearest Sansa, he should be able to take the lead in all aspects of life - including the religious matters.”

“But he wasn’t raised as a future lord,” aunt Lysa reminded her husband quietly. “And we don’t know if his family was attending the church.”

“They  _ had  _ to,” Baelish cut her off, sending Eddard Stark a smile, then he turned his gaze to Sandor. “He told me himself that his grandfather was a lord, which meant he was raised as a nobility. And he had to teach his son, Mr Clegane’s father, everything he knew.”

“But Petyr…” Lady Catelyn started, but Sandor cut her off almost instantly.

“Don’t worry, I will manage,” he shrugged, clearing his throat.

“Really?” Baelish raised his eyebrow with a smirk.

“Aye,” Sandor nodded. “Well, let’s start - bless, o father, thy gifts to our use and us to thy service; for Christ’s sake. Amen.”

“Amen,” Lord Stark repeated after him, looking at Sandor with some sort of an interest. He just shrugged, turning his gaze at Sansa, who certainly was a little bit surprised with his knowledge of some spiritual texts, even if the short ones. But then she smiled warmly and winked, and Sandor returned this smile with a sigh.

Baelish, from the other hand, looked irritated.

“You see,” aunt Lysa smiled at her husband. “Mr Clegane was raised in a  _ good  _ household, so please, just stop with all your investigations.”

“Whatever,” Baelish flinched, moving his attention to his plate.

Sandor wanted to laugh. He was more than sure even before that bloody Baelish won’t stop lurking for something which he could use against Sandor, making a laughing stock out of him and throw him out from the mansion, but he didn’t succeed again. His  _ proper connections _ , he was so proud of, were nothing but a fraud. He wasn’t able to trace the proper history of the Clegane’s family, which was the easiest task, especially considering the fact they lived in the twenty-first century where all the information was available in the search engines, but it wasn’t the main thing which made Sandor laugh. Stupid Baelish and his stupid connections weren’t even able to dig into more or less recent files and find out that Sandor’s brother was a convict, and it was a priest who was acting like Sandor’s legal guardian for some period of his life. If he knew that, he wouldn’t even challenge Sandor for something connected to the religious stuff.

Maybe Sandor was a hard-boiled agnostic who didn’t really care about anything spiritual, but he knew almost  _ everything  _ about the religion, including some most important prayers he was able to recite even when woken up in the middle of the night.

“That was a nice one,” Jon commented. “At least now our  _ dear uncle Petyr  _ will shut up for some time.”

“Hopefully,” Sandor sighed, trying to pay his attention to the meal he was served, but in the end he was just sitting there and casting lonely glances at Sansa.

Well, at least she wasn’t really enthusiastic in returning Hardyng’s conversation. In the end he had to chat with Lady Catelyn and Eddard Stark instead, and Sansa, who was trapped between them, was able to have her meal. She was looking at Sandor’s direction from time to time during the whole dinner, smiling warmly, an unspoken promise in her eyes. Sandor had no idea what she was trying to say him with her stare, but hoped it was something about the afternoon they were going to spend on their own in her bedroom.

Then the dessert was announced, and Sansa suddenly decided to make a scene out of getting her favourite treat. Well, at least Lady Catelyn wasn’t looking too comfortable after Sansa finally got her hands on a huge piece of the lemon cake, she even cast an apologising stare at Sandor. He just shrugged, returning to his drink.

“So-o pathetic,” Walder Frey laughed, the laugh suddenly transforming into the deep cough, which made Roslin to panic a little bit and get a fresh water for her father.

Sandor just snorted at him. Well, at least the old bugger got what he deserved.

Out of the corner of his eyes he noticed that Sansa was showing two fingers at him, her smile sad. Two more hours, Sandor figured out and sighed. Well, if he had a chance, he could spend them more or less nicely, chatting with Jon and Satin, maybe even with Robb - he was jumping into their conversations from time to time, when his son didn’t require any special attendance. But Sandor knew there was no chance for him to have a more or less pleasant evening. Something will happen and fuck all the things up, that’s what Sandor was sure of.

And then Sansa’s sister gasped loudly and announced her water broke.

_ It was happening. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~there was a joke i came up when planning the chapter, but i can't even add it to the fanfic because it's not in english, and even if my headcanon sandor is bilingual and could easily make this joke, there's still no way i can add it to the fanfic... what a pain :')~~


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normal people: Yay, it's February!  
> Me, an intellectual: wHaT a PeRfEcT tImE tO uPdAtE mY cHrIsTmAs fAnFiC
> 
> Three more chapters to follow (or three + epilogue, but I'll try to stick to three in total).
> 
> There's almost no sansan in this chapter, but you can get: blabbering, awkwardness, football, politics, bigoted Baelish, and Walder Frey eating his popcorn.

Luckily enough, the ambulance arrived to the mansion quite quickly.

“They’re going to bring Arya to the local hospital,” aunt Lysa fussed. “What type of service could they even provide here? We’ve already booked her a whole room in one of the best London’s hospitals, why did her water had to break a week earlier than we expected?”

“You can never predict when the birthing process will really happen,” Eddard Stark shrugged. “Both Rick and Sansa were born earlier than we were told, and with Robb we had to wait almost for two weeks after the promised deadline.”

“Poor Arya,” aunt Lysa shook her head. “I hope she won’t be too stressed out.”

“She will feel some stress, aunt Lysa,” Rickon snorted. “There’s a  _ whole baby _ coming out of her, everyone would be stressed in a similar situation.”

Bran and Theon, whose family joined the Starks already after Arya was taken to the hospital, snorted.

“Rickon, watch your mouth,” aunt Lysa frowned.

“What, am I wrong?” mumbled Rickon, but Bran, who was sitting next to him, quickly dragged his attention to something else.

Sandor wasn’t really following their conversation, as well as the rest of them. When everyone moved to the living room, Sansa quickly walked to the large chair in the corner of the room, waving in his direction and grinning mischievously. As Sandor found out, she wanted both of them to sit there, so they can finally be together after the time they spent apart during the lunch, as well as annoy her relatives. And Harry.

Oh, that poor Harry.

Sandor was quietly observing him during the whole afternoon, and at some point the annoyance he felt towards Harry Hardyng slowly transformed into a pity. Well, he still didn’t like that prick for being too dumb to stop his flirting attempts during the dinner, as well as for his general behaviour of a total little shit, but seeing him in the living room and trying  _ his best  _ to make an impression on the Starks was kind of amusing. And fun. And a little bit satisfying. But in the end, Sandor started to feel pity.

Harry wanted to present himself as a man, who was able to hold a conversation with people from his level, and he was failing since his first attempt to tell a joke. It was a Christmas gathering, so Hardyng decided that a joke about a priest and a rabbi arguing over the said holiday will be able to make everyone laugh - and, judging by the dead silence in the room, he failed. Sansa, who made herself comfortable on his lap and was completely ignoring judging stares from her aunt, whispered that her uncle form Eddard Stark’s side was, in fact, a priest. And Theon’s uncle was a rabbi. And Harry Hardyng made zero efforts to learn at least something about the people who invited him to their house.

After some time, Harry tried to join the conversation between Eddard Stark and Baelish, who started to argue about the politics at some point, but it appeared that even being a son of the MP he had no clue what was currently happening in the country. Even Sandor, who considered himself to be a more or less non-political man, bothered himself to follow news and updates on social media. But it looked like that Harry had more important interests than things which were happening around (like partying until he was fined for the loud noise or getting his one night stands pregnant, Sansa whispered with a chuckle), so he had failed again. For the second time already.

Eddard Stark and Baelish went away with their discussion, and then Sandor’s attention moved to the aunt Lysa’s attempt to lighten up the mood in the room, for which she brought some Christmas crackers. Sandor considered them to be for children, but everything was better than hearing Baelish blabbering about his party, or than Harry’s attempts to make himself the centre of the attention, so he decided to play along.

Well, at least the jokes from the crackers were way more funnier than the ones Harry Hardyng made.

And Sansa fed him the chocolate from her cracker. It was a sweet gesture, and Sandor didn’t mind being fed by his girlfriend at all.

It was still a little bit disturbing, to think of Sansa as his  _ girlfriend _ . Honestly, Sandor had buried all his hopes to get into a proper relationship years ago, right after his breakup with the second woman he was kind of dating, and it was a well-known knowledge that people like him weren’t able to find their happiness. Not in the real life, not in the comics, or books, or even video games. Well, the only chance for all those fuckers to get a beautiful and smart and loving woman by their side was to be a handsome prince under the spell. Sandor wasn’t the handsome prince, and the only curse he was under was the curse of his scarred face.

But it didn’t disturb Sansa at all. And Sandor believed her, even if it was the strangest thought which ever crossed his mind. That someone can find him… attractive? Bearable? Maybe even handsome? Definitely not the last one, even without his scars Sandor was never called a handsome boy during his childhood years. All those middle-aged women, who had a habit to coo over any child, were calling him just a  _ ugh, a boy _ . Sandor was too tall, too clumsy, and even if he took the best features from both his parents (like his dad’s strong jaw or his mother’s gray eyes and broad forehead), mixed together they made not a face girls could swoon over.

But Sansa didn’t mind. She didn’t mind even his scars. And she grown up among loads of pretty and handsome boys, who also had a proper access to take care of their looks and style. Like the said Harry Hardyng, who was sitting right in front of them with his perfect face and white teeth. He was sitting in his dark corner, and Sansa was sitting on Sandor’s laps, hugging him and feeding him the chocolate.

Sandor wasn’t a man who enjoyed to make boast of anything, but currently he felt himself proud as a peacock.

So he ignored any possible fuss or gasps from Sansa’s relatives and moved a little bit to place a kiss on her lips. He was her boyfriend, he could allow himself to kiss her whenever he wanted.

Sansa giggled and answered to his kiss, looking at him through half-lowered eyelashes. She was still giggling when they broke apart, and Sandor throw his arm around her shoulders. Apparently, nobody cared for what they were doing in their chair. Sansa’s brothers and Theon were discussing the Boxing day matches, Eddard Stark was trying to ignore aunt Lysa’s unending complains about the hospital, and Baelish was sitting there too quietly for the bastard he was. Sandor remembered Sansa’s words that most of those gatherings were ending with the argument between her brothers and their so-called uncle, so he decided to wait patiently for them and try not to engage himself into any conversation which could lead to a  _ drama _ .

Harry Hardyng, on the other hand, had completely opposite thoughts. At some point he decided to jump in the football discussion, and it looked like that there was at least one thing he had some knowledge of.

Until the moment when Harry decided to move the subject to a more personal level and mentioned the last match of his favourite team, in which they’ve got a clean sheet against the guests from Newcastle who, in Harry’s humble opinion, were a weak team anyway.

Sandor shifted uncomfortably, feeling a thick tension in the air which literally appeared out of nowhere.

“Rest in peace, Harry,” mumbled Theon, and Sandor frowned.

“ _ Excuse me _ ?” Eddard Stark suddenly forgot about his attempts to become an invisible man and avoid aunt Lysa’s blabbering. “Did you just said that the magpies are  _ weak _ ?”

_ Oh _ . Right, Sandor completely forgot that ex-marshal Eddard Stark came from the huge miner from a tiny city somewhere on the river Tyne. Like, just couple of hours of bike-riding from Newcastle. And judging by his tone, Eddard Stark was definitely not impressed by Harry’s words.

“Well, yeah?” he frowned. “I mean, just look at their current stands, I’m still amazed they are on the next-to-last place in a table, and not the last ones.”

The tension in the room was now mixed with the total silence. Even old Walder Frey, who was spending his free time in the wheelchair near Christmas tree, mumbling something to himself and not paying any attention to his surroundings, finally shut up and was eyeing both Harry and Eddard Stark with a barefaced excitement. After meeting that man, Sandor was suspecting he came to this house just to be able to witness some proper  _ drama _ , laughing at it from his wheelchair. And the  _ drama _ Walder Frey was fairing for has finally found him. 

Eddard Stark was throwing daggers at Harry, his face slowly turning red.

"Listen, boy," he started. "If you think you can call the magpies  _ weak _ , then you're…" 

"Then you're just not following the insights from the club," Sansa piped in, her tone chirping and a little bit urgent. "After all, there were some changes in the management team, plus, don't forget that they have new additions to the team - of course they need some time to get along together and show good results."

"Yeah?" Harry blinked, looking at Sansa with the dumbest expression Sandor ever saw on his face. 

Sansa nodded. And went along with her explanations, leaving both Harry and her father kind of speechless. Not only them, her brothers and cousin with his boyfriend looked surprised too, and aunt Lysa wasn't able to understand what Sansa was even talking about, so she kept texting something on her phone. Baelish was still quiet and unimpressed, but the one who looked the most offended by her words was old Walder Frey.

Sandor nuzzled into Sansa’s neck and snorted. Sansa’s interest in sports and the university degree she was currently working on destroyed all hopes of the Frey patriarch to spend his time watching the heated argument. What a misery.

The other miserable person in the living room was, of course, Harry. At first he tried to confront Sansa, using his knowledge to prove how wrong she was with her assumptions - after all, noble ladies weren’t known for their interest in football. But in the end of his girlfriend’s tirade Sandor started to feel a tiny pity towards Hardyng again. So tiny it was almost invisible. The pride he felt for Sansa was way bigger.

“Wow,” Eddard Stark pinched the bridge of his nose when Sansa was done. “Well, Sansa, to be honest, I’d never expect  _ you  _ to be the one with a decent knowledge in such field as football.”

Sandor rolled his eyes.

“That wasn’t nice, Mr Stark,” he grumbled, putting his chin on Sansa’s shoulder. “Judging someone by their looks or behaviour, I mean.”

“I think I know my daughter better, than you,” Eddard Stark shrugged. “After all, I am her father and I know Sansa for years, unlike you. So yes, there’s a reason why I am surprised by her sudden knowledge about something women like her are not really into.”

“And by saying that  _ women like her _ you’re making a huge mistake straight away,” Sandor shrugged as well.

“What do you mean?” Eddard Stark frowned.

“I mean, you don’t know your daughter  _ at all _ , Mr Stark,” Sandor laughed, ignoring Sansa’s weak cuff on the nape. “Because Sansa is definitely not like some other women who just simply look like her or have the similar background. She’s much better.”

“Oh, that was sweet,” aunt Lysa suddenly piped in, looking at Sandor with the grounds of warmth in her eyes. “Right, Ned, this young man speaks the truth here - you might be our dearest Sansa’s father, but now she is a grown woman, and I bet she listens to her boyfriend’s opinion more than yours.”

“It still doesn’t explain Sansa’s sudden interest for sports,” Eddard Stark mumbled, averting his eyes from Sandor. “Besides, weren’t you against your niece dating him yesterday?”

Sandor was sure he heard Sansa snorting soundlessly.

“I was,” aunt Lysa agreed, looking at Sandor and giving him something what could be named a  _ smile _ . “But I can see how they act while being next to each other, even if it is kind of embarrassing from time to time. And Mr Clegane appeared to be a nice man, despite not being a man from the environment Sansa grew up in - Ned, you need to agree that he’s well educated and has enough good traits to be a right man by Sansa’s side.”

Eddard Stark made a loud sighed, but nodded.

“At least he knows what he is talking about,” he added under his breath, and Harry Hardyng flinched at his words. Sandor just growled quietly, getting tired of being discussed by Sansa’s relatives as if he was a posh rare breed cat at the exhibition, overlooked by thousand pair of curious eyes. Even this some sort of  _ approval  _ from aunt Lysa didn’t sound like something he wanted to hear.

Sansa squeezed his hand reassuringly.

“Can we just leave?” he whispered, trying not to look too suspicious.

“Let’s stay here for another twenty minutes,” she sighed, not looking too happy either. “And then we could leave, saying it’s already ten and we have an early coach in the morning.”

“Do we?” Sandor smirked, pressing his forehead to Sansa’s cheek.

“Oh, of course,” she was giggling now, and Sandor lightly caressed her fingers with his thumb.

“And that’s exactly what I was calling an embarrassing behaviour,” aunt Lysa pointed out. 

“What, I can’t even hug my girlfriend now?” Sandor snorted, watching how the warmth started to fade away from her eyes. “After all, we are not making out in front of the others.”

“Thanks God you’re not,” aunt Lysa answered through clenched teeth.

“Oh come on,” Baelish suddenly laughed, reaching out his hand and squeezing his wife’s shoulder. “They’re just a young couple, and their behaviour isn’t as bad as it could be.”

Listening to Lysa approving him as Sansa’s boyfriend was weird. But listening to Petyr Bloody Baelish to do the same was kind of disgusting. Especially remembering his bigoted nature and how this idiot was trying to attack him just couple of hours ago.

“After all, they remember the proprieties while visiting the family manor,” Baelish continued, casting an annoyed glance to Robb and his wife. “ _ Especially _ during the night hours.”

Robb’s face turned a shade of a tomato. He even opened his mouth to confront his  _ dear uncle _ , but was interrupted by a loud cough from the Christmas tree’s side. Old Walder Frey wasn’t definitely not impressed by Petyr’s attempt to tell his daughter off.

“Whatever,” Baelish muttered, not wanting to get into a quarrel with the guest. “But anyway, my point is that the young man Sansa is dating is not  _ that  _ bad, my dear Lysa, so I suggest we can close our eyes on their behaviour at some points.”

“Not  _ that  _ bad?” Eddard Stark cocked his eyebrow, making the same emphasis on the word as Baelish did.

“Well, he has his own lowlights,” Baelish shrugged with a blank expression on his face. “But at least he has a decent job. And  _ at least  _ he is British.”

Eddard Stark cleared his throat.

“Please, not this shit again,” Theon groaned quietly.

“Oh,” Sansa’s cousin raised his head, looking at Baelish with a polite smile -  _ too  _ polite in Sandor’s opinion. “There’s something we need to tell you.”

“Something important?” Eddard Stark frowned.

Baelish murmured something about the break up.

“Yes,” Jon nodded. “Well, you see, the last Christmas gathering was gloomed by our dearest uncle Petyr’s disappointment in my choice of a boyfriend, right?”

Apparently, old Walder Frey had the similar thought.“And?” Eddard Stark looked puzzled. As well as the rest of the family, with the exception of Robb and Baelish, who was definitely awaiting to hear the words about the mentioned break up. Robb, on the other hand, was biting on his lip in the attempts not to grin like a madman.

Sandor had no idea what all this thing was about, but he was more than sure Baelish won’t get what he wanted.

“Just spit it out already, boy,” he grumbled, tapping his scraggy fingers over the wheelchair arm.

“Well,” Jon shrugged. “There’s nothing really to say, apart from the fact that both me and Satin were so concerned about  _ our  _ dear uncle’s reaction to his  _ mixed heritage _ , that it lead to the weeks of researches and other stuff, so we could find the truth and make  _ our  _ uncle happy.”

“Oh?” Baelish raised his eyebrows. “So what, do you want to tell me your boyfriend was wrong about his family all along?”

Jon shrugged again, the polite smile glued to face.

“You see,” he sighed  _ too  _ dramatically. “The whole research took its time, and in the end we even decided to spend some money and approach the company which works with the DNA samples and stuff, maybe you heard of them.”

“Of course I did,” Baelish snorted. “Some trusts I work with are connected to the heritage business, after all.”

“So-o,” Jon’s fake smile finally turned into a grin, as he digged out an envelope from his pocket and handing it to Baelish. “It took us some time and even some extra resources, but here you are.”

Baelish eyed his suspiciously, completely ignoring Robb’s loud snorts, and opened the envelope, looking at the piece of paper in there.

“Oh, I see,” he sniffed with a clear disgust on his face. “No surprises here. Ned, you had to listen to me and simply object your nephew’s choice of a partner as soon as he appeared in your house.”

  
“Stop it,” Eddard Stark almost barked these words. “I think we discussed it many times already, Petyr, that this house isn’t a place for your kind of _unfair_ views.”

Old Walder Frey snorted and rubbed his hands with joy. Sandor, who was happy that the subject of the argument is finally not connected to him, was quietly observing the scene.

“I have no idea what’s going on,” Sansa whispered into his ear. “But I know Jon very well, and there’s something going on.”

“Eddard’s right,” aunt Lysa shook her head. “Sometimes your views are  _ too  _ harsh.”

“What does it say anyway?” Harry Hardyng suddenly piped in, looking puzzled.

“Nothing new,” Baelish shrugged, turning his gaze back to Jon. “If the whole point was to show me that your boyfriend has a tiny amount of British blood in him, it definitely didn’t make me happy, as you were promising. Five percent is  _ nothing _ , my dear  _ nephew _ .”

Robb broke down and laughed like crazy.

“Uncle,” he snorted, wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes. “Just read  _ everything  _ what’s written there.”

Eddard Stark snatched out the piece of paper from Baelish.

“There’s just a breakdown of the results,” he shrugged. “Numbers, estimates, some other information, and…  _ Oh _ .”

“What?” Baelish frowned. “Is there anything else?”

“Yeah, in the top right corner,” Eddard Stark smirked. “It says these are the heritage results for  _ Mr Petyr L. Baelish _ .”

Sandor nuzzled his face in to Sansa’s shoulder and snorted.

“W-what?” the bastard blinked, snatching the paper back and quickly re-reading its content. “Is it some sort of a Christmas prank, Jon?”

“Not at all,” Sansa’s cousin was glowing with joy. “But I’m sure that the mighty leader of the Freedom Party is  _ thrilled  _ to find out that he’s, in fact, the person he hates the most.”

Baelish gaped at him, as if he lost his voice completely. Sansa giggled, grabbing his hand and standing up.

“Well, I’m sure these news are very exciting, but we have an early coach tomorrow in the morning, so please,” she nodded to her father and aunt. “Excuse us.”

Eddard Stark nodded in return, a smirk still on his face.

“And yes,” Sansa shrugged, turning to Baelish, her expression almost mirroring her father’s one. “After all, today is a holiday, which means that people can easily forget about their daily routines and behaviour. So yeah, no proprieties tonight.”

She dragged Sandor out of the room, a victorious smile on her face. The last thing he heard before closing the door was old Walder Frey’s mumbling about the best Christmas ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every family gathering i attended during my life had that-one-guest, who is just sitting there and watching all arguments and quarrels with a smile on their face. i kind of suspect that you can easily find that person at any gathering all over the world. and if you think there's no such guest, then...


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where did Sansa drag Sandor in the end of the last chapter?  
> Of course, for t a l k i n g !

“When I said there won’t be any proprieties tonight I meant it,” announced Sansa after she locked the door in her bedroom and dragged Sandor in the direction of her bed. He opened his mouth in an attempt to protest, god, he had to talk to Sansa first and discuss with her some things which still were bothering him, but she raised on her tiptoes and used this opportunity to kiss him.

Her hot tongue slid into his mouth and Sandor felt his knees starting to shake. Sansa had too much power over him, not that Sandor wanted to complain about it, but now they had to stop.

“Sansa,” he exhaled as soon as she broke their kiss and started to undo his belt. “I don’t think it’s wise to do anything like this now.”

“Not at all,” she chirped sweetly, her fingers running over his half-hard cock, who, of course, didn’t want to think about the wise things. “I am looking forward to have a very inappropriate night, so some of our  _ dear guests  _ won’t be able to have a proper sleep because of the  _ sounds  _ coming from this bedroom.”

“Still,” Sandor’s breath was already ragged. He wanted to run his fingers through Sansa’s hair so fucking much, he wanted to kiss her, to help her to take off her dress, to continue kissing her whole body, but at the same time he wanted to have a proper conversation with her. Then he would be able to do anything both he and Sansa wanted, but all those things had to wait.

“I can’t hear you,” Sansa answered in a singing voice, pushing him in the chest, so in the end Sandor ended up sitting on the edge of her bed. Sansa eyed him and quickly seated herself on his lap, giving a small sound full of satisfaction.

“You’re my boyfriend, Sandor,” she said in a serious tone, looking directly into his eyes. “And you know that I l-like you. So being together like this is the only  _ wise  _ thing for us to do.”

Sandor sighed, putting his hands on her hips and dragging her a little bit closer.

“Right,” he agreed, leaning forward and pressing his lips to Sansa’s temple. “But still, there are at least two reasons why we should wait for now.”

“ _ Reasons _ ?” Sansa suddenly tensed, her hands latched onto the collar of his shirt. There was a change in her stare as well, Sandor noticed, it became more sharp and full of… fear?

“Reasons,” he nodded and started to caress her hips with his thumbs in a soothing motion, hoping it will help Sansa to relax just a little bit. The memory of her frustration and sudden breakdown because of his refusal to sleep with her just couple of nights ago was still fresh in his mind, and Sandor sighed.

He didn’t want to make her miserable or stressed at all, but god, to stop here and have a proper conversation was the only reasonable thing he had in his mind.

“Go on,” Sansa’s voice was cold, but her fingers started to tremble. Sandor had no idea what had happened to her in the past, but the fear to be rejected once again was clearly written on her pretty face.

He leaned forward again and kissed her quickly, as if to assure Sansa there was no way he could dump her just like this. He would never do anything like this to her, that what Sandor was sure of.

“First, we don’t have condoms here,” Sandor sighed. “My bad, I know.”

“B-but you can just pull out, right?” Sansa cocked an eyebrow, her cheeks suddenly red. 

“Still, not the best protection,” Sandor snorted. “I mean, I know that sometimes you can’t trust even the condoms, but it would be much better to have them. You’re not on the pill, right?”

“Right,” Sansa’s full face was red know. “N-not sure how did you know it…”

“Maybe I was just too observant when it came to you and your morning routine,” Sandor snorted. “Don’t consider me a creep though.”

He earned a shy giggle and a light smack on his shoulder.

“And besides,” Sandor continued with the sigh. “I really need to talk to you before we will move to having sex, making out, or even simply touching each other while being naked.”

“About?” Sansa looked a little bit puzzled, and Sandor wondered if she remembered anything from what she told him while being drunk.

“About what happened in my flat couple of nights ago.”

“B-but I’ve already told you,” Sansa pouted, trying to hid her embarrassment. “I didn’t mind your actions at all.”

“And I minded,” Sandor sighed, moving one hand from her hip to squeeze her palm. “I had to wait and ask for your consent when you are sober, as it looked like I simply took an advantage over your drunken body.”

“You didn’t,” Sansa sighed as well, smacking him again. “And if you will start telling me about a poor and scared girl who was pressured to take part in some atrocities by an ugly brute while being drunk, I’ll punch you way harder than now.”

“Well,” Sandor laughed sadly. “That’s kind of what I thought that night.”

“I’ll punch you.”

“But look,” he waved his free hand next to his face. “Women aren’t usually volunteering to have sex with me, and I’m not even talking about getting my face somewhere between their legs. Bloody hell, one of them told me that my ugly mug could carry some infection, which will destroy her precious cunt.”

“Oh,” Sansa screwed up her pretty face. “A cunt indeed. I mean,  _ she  _ was the one.”

“Well, maybe,” Sandor laughed, nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck and inhaling Sansa’s sweet scent mixed with some perfume and sweat. It was driving him crazy, and his cock strongly agreed with this thought, but Sandor had to stay calm.

“You should know it very well, Sandor,” Sansa spoke in a serious tone. “You are my boyfriend. And we are dating. And I give you my consent for anything what can happen between us, because that’s what usually happens between two people who like each other, right?”

“Right,” Sandor smiled, placing a quick peck on her neck and moving a little bit so he could meet her glance. “But there’s another important thing for us to discuss before we can proceed to any  _ consented  _ action.”

“I’m listening?” Sansa hummed, getting more and more impatient.

“It’s about the things you told me that night,” Sandor sighed. As a man with a proper history of being rejected he knew it could be a sensitive subject for Sansa to talk about, but bloody hell, he simply had to pull himself together and finish with the only thing which was still irritating him. “Something about your exes, I suppose.”

“What?” Sansa frowned. “I don’t remember even mentioning any of them.”

“Probably because of the amount of alcohol you had,” Sandor shrugged. “Basically, when I said that we need to stop you suddenly became tense - well, just like some minutes ago, and then started to accuse me of not liking you.”

“I did?” Sansa mumbled, averting her gaze.

“Well, it was more about your body, but still,” Sandor explained, brushing his knuckles against her hand. “I don’t know who were all those assholes you were dating before, but I really wish I could do anything to make you forget about their words.”

“ _ Oh _ ,” Sansa bit on her lower lip, sinking her head into her shoulders. “I’m… I’m sorry if I offended you, or anything…”

“Bloody hell, Sansa,” he groaned, pulling her closer, so now Sansa’s face was buried against his shoulder. Sansa made a small sigh, but her body started to relax, if even a little bit. “It’s not about me, I don’t even think a nice soul like you could ever  _ offend  _ me.”

“You were worried about me?” she asked in a small voice, leaning into his body and throwing her arms around his back.

“Of course I was,” Sandor admitted, starting to caress her hair in a slow motion. Almost the same way he did that night in his flat. “You’re the most beautiful and the most gentle woman I ever met, and you know I meant what I’ve just said - it was kind of painful to listen to your words about your body being ugly.”

Sansa mumbled something what was really difficult to understand.

“Besides,” Sandor made a small laugh. “I don’t think it would be a nice thing for a man like me to talk about someone else’s appearance.”

“I think you forgot about my words,” Sansa growled, her small fist hitting his back almost gently. “From now on, I will be punching you every time you say anything about your face. Or your body. Or will believe any of those lies the women from your past were telling you.”

“Should I do the same?” Sandor snorted, pinching Sansa’s hand lightly. “You really are the most perfect woman I’ve ever met, why did you listen to all those assholes who were insulting you?”

“Maybe because I was too young and too dumb at that time,” Sansa sighed, making herself a little bit more comfortable in their strange embrace. “I mean, I was just sixteen when I’ve heard that my body is  _ ugly _ .”

“Sixteen?” Sandor cocked an eyebrow. “Well, that’s a shitty age to hear something what can give you an insecurity about yourself.”

“Exactly,” Sansa moved her head a little bit, now she wasn’t hiding her face anymore, simply laying down on Sandor’s shoulder. Her hands still were around Sandor’s back, but now she started to caress it slowly. “I mean, I was just a teenager, too dumb to listen to my mother’s advices. And when Robb was getting married, I became too drunk to look more mature - you know, like the rest of my parents friends’ daughters.”

“And?” Sandor asked carefully, not really liking the way her story was leading to.

“There was a guy I fancied that time,” Sansa clicked her tongue. “Robert Baratheon’s son.”

“Wait, are you talking about Joffrey?” Sandor choked on his breath. “Jaime’s nephew?”

“Yeah.”

“But he’s a little shit, it’s known,” Sandor snorted. “I mean, I know two of his uncles from different sides of his family - and both of them are kind of despising him, despite being related to him by blood.”

“I know he is,” Sansa agreed, moving on of her hands to Sandor’s chest and starting to play with a button on his shirt. “But I’ve mentioned earlier I was too young and too dumb, right?”

“Let’s just stop at  _ young _ ,” Sandor grumbled.

“Yeah, but anyway,” Sansa shrugged. “I’m more than sure I was the dumbest sixteen-years-old at that time, so when I got drunk and Joffrey approached me with a clear aim to drag me to his bed I had no intention to protest. And we ended up in his room - Robb’s wedding was a big event and our family rented a whole luxury hotel for all the guest.”

“Ugh,” Sandor answered. Now he really hated the way her story was going.

“Ugh,” Sansa agreed, sighing sadly. “So, when we were in his room he started to undress me straight away, not even bothering with kisses and other romantic stuff I was waiting for - but well, I decided to keep going with it. Maybe that’s how the mature people were having sex, I decided. And then we were on his bed, my dress tossed somewhere, and he was  _ kind of _ caressing me, I’m not even sure if I felt any arousal, but I was so drunk it didn’t matter. And Joffrey was drunk too. So at some point he started to talk.”

“About?” Sandor started to run his fingers through her hair, feeling Sansa’s body to tense once again.

“About how my body was making him sick,” Sansa made a small laugh. “I mean, he was trying to do something with my nipples, and at the same time muttered that I was too plain to look  _ fuckable enough _ . He probably thought I wasn’t able to understand what he was blabbering there while being drunk.”

“Wanker,” Sandor mumbled, pressing her closer.

“Indeed,” Sansa agreed. “But anyway, after he continued to complain to himself about everything he didn’t like in my body - I mean, he even wasn’t pleased that my legs were too long for his liking, - well, even being a naive and dumb, I was able to realise it wasn’t something people had to tell each other while having sex. So I kicked him.”

“Wow,” Sandor tried to stay calm, but snorted anyway. “Like, kicked him  _ in the balls _ ?”

“Yeah,” Sansa grinned, apparently being really proud of herself. “Then climbed out of his bed, put my dress on somehow, and went to my room. And that was how it ended. And we didn’t even have a proper sex.”

“Good for you,” Sandor shrugged. “I mean, it would be a pity to have your first time with such an asshole.”

“I thought the same,” Sansa snorted. “Well, and I still think so. But, unfortunately, Joffrey wasn’t the only  _ asshole  _ I met.”

“I’m sorry,” Sandor placed a light kiss on her forehead.

“Don’t be,” Sansa tilted her up head and finally looked at him. “ After all, I became older after that shitty experience, and at the time I started to date another guy I wasn’t as dumb as I was at sixteen. So as soon as he started to complain about my appearance, I left him.”

“I can’t believe someone could even think of complaining about your appearance,” Sandor knew he sounded too puzzled even for himself.

“But the rest of the guys I tried to date complained,” Sansa answered quietly. “One of the didn’t like by weight - well, it was the first year of the university and I started to eat some extremely unhealthy food, but still. The other complained about my breasts too. The third one was insisting I need to shave literally everything, except of my head - luckily, I had enough common sense to break up with them before I could regret my choices. Or before I could sleep with them and get even more comments and complexes.”

“Good for you then,” Sandor chuckled, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Hopefully, the guy with whom you had your first time wasn’t a jerk like all these ones.”

“I hope so,” Sansa mumbled, raising her hand as if she was trying to hide the blush on her cheeks. “Um, I mean, I know he _ is not _ a jerk, I’m more than sure of it.”

“Careful, young lady, or I will become jealous,” Sandor snorted.

“What I meant,” Sansa took a deep sigh, her face awfully red. “My  _ proper  _ first time will be with you. So, ugh, you know, that’s why I am so sure you’re not a jerk.”

“Wait, wait,” Sandor stiffened, taking his hand away from Sansa’s hair and looking at her seriously. “You mean, you’re still a virgin?”

“Is it wrong or what?” Sansa snapped, suddenly tensing once again, as if Sandor’s words offended her. 

“Not at all,” he shook his head, returning his hand back to her hair - apparently, Sansa, the poor soul she was, needed some extra reassuring after her not so nice experience with the other guys. “After all, it’s yours and only yours choice what to do with your body, right?”

“Right,” Sansa agreed, squeezing his other hand with all her might. “The others thought it’s  _ not normal _ though.”

“Fuck them,” Sandor shrugged. “But what I wanted to tell is that now I am more than sure we need to wait before having sex. Even if just a little bit.”

“Is it still because of the condoms?” Sansa squeaked.

“Not only,” Sandor clicked his tongue. “After all, a lady like you should have a  _ proper  _ atmosphere for her first time - and doing it just because you wanted to pissoff any of your relatives.”

“But I want it because I want to have sex with  _ you _ ,” she protested, but Sandor quickly cut her off with a quick kiss.

“Still,” he almost whispered these words, caressing her cheek with his thumb. “Don’t consider me a romantic type, but I want everything to be in the most perfect way for you.”

  
“But you  _ are  _ a romantic type,” Sansa giggled. “And an  _ utterly  _ romantic type.”

“Hush,” Sandor frowned jokingly. “Don’t ruin my image of an ugly brute who looks like a tough criminal and likes to seduce some young naive noble ladies.”

“You know you aren’t the one,” Sansa wrinkled her nose. “And I don’t care what the others think of you.”

Sandor wanted to make some other joke about him being a hideous bastard, but now it was her turn to silence him with a kiss. And what a sweet kiss it was. Everything about Sansa was too sweet, Sandor was doubting his senses from time to time. But he liked it. He liked everything about Sansa, he simply liked Sansa.

To be honest, it was everything what mattered to him.

They spent the rest of the night cuddling and sharing some sweet kisses, Sansa’s legs tangled with his ones. She asked him about his past too, and Sandor was glad to share everything - all stupid stories about his own insecurities and bad experiences, he even told her about his fear to spend the rest of his life all alone, and Sansa smacked him lightly at these words.

Then he got more serious and told her the rest of his story. About his parent and sister. About Gregor. About all those years he spent in fear to be caught by his brother and the police, and how he ended up living at the local parish. He even told her the full story of his grandfather, noting, that Baelish was too stupid to look for the information  _ outside  _ the country - then he would be able to trace the whole story of Clegane family.

Sansa listened to him, laughed with him, clenched her teeth when he told her about the way he got his scars, she even cried a little bit, so Sandor had to spend some time caressing her back and saying he had left in the past all the shit he went through.

  
When Sansa fell asleep, still wearing her evening dress, Sandor was laying next to her for some time more, holding his _girlfriend_ in his arms and touching her hair and back from time to time.

It was so pathetic, Sandor realised, to lay in Sansa’s bed like this, having her in his arms and listening to her calm breath - but bloody hell, apparently, he liked to be pathetic to the point he even felt some strange but warm feeling in his chest. And it didn’t feel bad at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two more


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: oh wow, there's only one chapter left in one of my fanfics  
> My friend: so what, are you going to abandon it now?  
> Me: :')  
> My friend: don't you even da--  
> *directed by robert b weide*

“I have a granddaughter!” Eddard Stark announced happily, appearing on the kitchen’s threshold where Sandor and Sansa were having their breakfast.

Sansa shrieked in excitement, and then Eddard Stark sat next to them and started showing them pictures Gendry and Lady Catelyn sent him from the hospital. From Sandor’s point of view, Sansa’s niece looked just like any newborn - fat, pink and almost bald, but Eddard Stark was sure it was the most beautiful baby in the whole world.

“He was telling the same about Robb’s children,” Sansa whispered in Sandor’s ear and he snorted.

“But of course,” Eddard Stark smirked, putting his phone away and looking at them with a mischievous stare. “There’s a really high chance that your baby will look even more beautiful.”

Sandor choked on his morning coffee and Sansa mumbled something to her father about not really appropriate jokes. But her cheeks were blushing, so, apparently, she wasn’t really against the idea of having a beautiful baby. Sandor’s baby.

Sandor didn’t want to even think about it. He didn’t like children, it was known - well, he could tolerate well-behaved ones, for examples, the kids who were brought to this Christmas gathering didn’t really bother him at all, so Sandor decided all of them were fine. Plus, there was always an opportunity to teach your own children how to behave, what to say, and how to be the most proper kids in the whole world - well, the whole propriety thing was a subject to reservations. Sandor was sure that the thing he could teach his own kids could make someone like aunt Lysa to gasp in horror, but still.

From the other hand, Sandor was really afraid to become a father. His own father wasn’t a bad man, he tried his best to provide for his family and make sure all his kids had a lightsome childhood, but then the car accident happened - and Sandor was left without any protection from his parents. It was so dangerous, to bring new lives in this world, where nobody could be really sure of what could happen the next day, and Sandor didn’t want to screw up the life of someone who was depending on him.

Why he was even thinking about children, in the first place. He’ve just started dating Sansa, it wasn’t even a full day of them being together - and here he was, picturing tough life of their kids. Sandor shook his head and excused himself. He had already eaten his breakfast, so now it was time to find his cat and put him to the carrier bag. He and Sansa woke up quite early, so all their possessions were already packed, except for the ragdoll, who spent the last night somewhere in the huge mansion.

It didn’t take him long to find his cat. He heard some giggles and meowls from Rickon’s room as soon as he walked upstairs, so Sandor sighed and went there, knocking on the door.

Sansa’s youngest brother opened it almost straight away.

“I’m here to get Stranger,” Sandor said, scanning Rickon’s room. Of course his cat was there, laying on the big bed and meowling. Bran, who was sitting next to him, was scratching Stranger’s belly, which made him purr and meow.

Sandor walked inside, the carrier in his hand.

“Come on, lazy ass,” he grumbled, unzipping the bag. Stranger opened his eye at the familiar sound and made an irritated sound.

“He doesn’t want to go,” Rickon giggled.

“Well,” Sandor made a helpless gesture. “Sometimes life is unfair even for cats.”

He took Stranger from the bed, noticing that his fluffy fur was brushed and taken care of. That was a nice gesture from Sansa’s brothers, so Sandor nodded to both of them and put his cat inside the carrier.

“By the way,” he faced Rickon after Stranger was successfully placed in the bag where he belonged. “You still owe me a wish, don’t forget about it.”

“Fine,” the boy pouted.

“What wish?” Bran cocked his eyebrow. “Is it something to do with the story Robb told about your total defeat in…”

“Right, right,” Rickon mumbled,” cutting his brother off. “We’ll talk about it later on, mister.”

“Deal,” Sandor shrugged and left, taking the carrier with him. Stranger continued with his unimpressed sounds, but it was time for them to go back home. Eddard Stark promised to drive them to the bus station, so he could go to the hospital from there. Sansa booked them tickets to London, so it was better for them to not be too late. Sandor usually preferred to stay home on Christmas, so he wasn’t sure how the hell the coach services worked during the holidays.

Sansa was already waiting for him in the hall.

“Father is already outside,” she told him, putting her coat on and tidying her hair. “We still have about an hour before our bus, but father said it was freezing cold at night, so the road can be a little bit slippery.”

Sandor nodded, putting the carrier next to Sansa’s suitcase and grabbing his own jacket. He made himself ready and then they said their goodbyes to the old butler, who came to see them on their way. The others were still sleeping or just chilling in their bedrooms, it was a Christmas morning, after all, but Sansa promised to text everyone a little bit later.

Eddard Stark drove them to the bus station, chatting all way long about how he was happy to become a grandfather once again. Then he suddenly changed the subject of his conversation and started asking Sansa about her studies and work.

“It’s your graduation year, after all,” he smiled encouragely at his daughter. “Catelyn and I are looking forward to attend it - you know, watching your daughter getting her Master’s degree is a dream for every parent. And the fact that you’re becoming a fashion designer will make all mother’s friends jealous.”

Sansa, who decided to travel on the front seat, was looking at her hands nervously. She was a disobedient daughter, that was known, and Sandor couldn’t imagine her parents’ disappointment when they would learn the truth about her studies. And about her job. And about her hobbies. And about everything what wasn’t matching their world views.

But Sansa was a human person. A young lady, who had her own hopes and dreams, who was seeing the world around her from a different perspective than her a little bit old-fashioned parents. She was a  _ person  _ who had her rights to make her own decisions and shape her future how  _ she  _ wanted, not someone else. She had her right to laugh whenever she wanted or to be sad when she thought it would be appropriate. She wasn’t air marshal Eddard Stark or Lady Catelyn, she was a completely different person, she had her own interests and hobbies, her own dreams and fears, and there was nothing wrong with it.

And Sansa was doing a very good job of being herself, that what Sandor was sure of. And, he decided with a tiny smile, he will be supporting her with all her decisions, after all, that what boyfriends were for. He reached out his hand and squeezed Sansa’s shoulder as if trying to remind her that he was here, and she smiled.

“You know, father,” she said, that sweet and sincere smile still on her lips. “After I’ll get my degree, I won’t become a fashion designer.”

“Oh,” Eddard Stark cocked his eyebrow in a surprise. “Well, it’s not an uncommon thing when people are choosing the job which isn’t related to their degree, but I’m sure your mother will be a little bit disappointed that you spent two last years of your live on nothing.”

“Not on nothing,” Sansa answered and suddenly giggled. “I’m really looking forward to work in a field of my studies - the thing is, my degree won’t be in fashion design, father.”

Eddard Stark chewed his lip, eyeing Sansa out of the corner of his eyes. Apparently, he wasn’t really sure what exactly he had to answer his daughter, but at least he didn’t start to yell or express his disappointment straight away. Sandor patted Sansa’s shoulder reassuringly and she smiled.

“Well,” Eddard Stark finally sighed after he stopped his car in front of the bus station’s entrance. “Looks likes there will be some news to bring to Catelyn from my side as well.”

“Apparently,” Sansa sighed as well, unfastening seat belt.

“So, what are you studying, then?” there was a clear surprise in her father’s sight.

“Sports management.”

“ _ Oh _ ,” Eddard Stark frowned. “Well, that was definitely not what I could expect from you.”

“There’re so many things for you to learn about your daughter, Mr Stark,” Sandor laughed, opening the car’s door. “Things, which are making her happy.”

“I hope so,” Eddard Stark mumbled, getting out of the car.

Sandor followed him and helped to get their bags and a suitcase from the boot. They still had time before their bus, but Sansa didn’t want to make her father wait - he was quite eager to finally see Arya and her newborn, so Sansa placed a quick peck on his cheek and promised to text them when they will be in London. Eddard Stark kissed her as well, shook Sandor’s hand and drove away.

“I hope he won’t be too disappointed in me,” Sansa sighed after they seated themselves on the bench, the carrier with Stranger next to them. “I mean, in my own choice of University and everything else god, there are so many other things for them to learn about me.”

“They will be the world’s biggest fools if they will see any of your decisions as a disappointment,” Sandor shrugged. “But I can imagine your mother calling you and starting to complain about your life choices.”

“I hope she will be too busy with Arya’s daughter,” Sansa mumbled. Sandor chuckled and dragged Sansa to his side with his hand, throwing it around her shoulder and nuzzling the top of her head. Sansa giggled, cuddling into him.

“At least. I will still have you by my side,” she suddenly said, and Sandor wanted to drag her on his lap and kiss her ferociously. But they were sitting at the bus stop, and despite it being empty, it still was a public place, so Sandor decided to take a grip on himself.

And Sansa deserved something better than a quick and clumsy make out session on a cold bench.

The bus to London was half empty, they found a place for themselves and Stranger not so far from the entrance. Sansa cuddled into him again and fell asleep almost instantly, so Sandor had to spent the whole journey home holding her in his arms and playing with her soft locks from time to time. It was such a stupid behaviour, but Sandor liked it. He even grinned as a total fool from time to time, hoping that this grin on his ugly mug won’t scare their driver.

  
The bus was going to Victoria, but Sandor managed to ask the driver to make a stop near Waterloo. He woke Sansa up and gave her Stranger’s carrier, explaining that he will take the rest of their bags. They had to walk to Sandor’s flat, it was Christmas day after all, and Sandor didn’t want his  _ girlfriend  _ to carry heavy bags. When Sansa started to pout, he just shrugged and said that Stranger was fat enough to consider him a heavy burden. Sansa giggled and the question was sorted.

It took them around fifteen minutes to get to Sandor’s place. The streets were quite empty and Sandor wouldn’t mind for them to go for a stroll, but at some point the wind became colder and Stranger started to complain loudly, so Sandor sighed and said they will be going home. Sansa didn’t mind it, though. She just smiled and asked if it would be fine with him if she stayed at his place until the afternoon.

To be honest, Sandor would be glad if she stayed at his place permanently, but decided to keep his mouth shut.

As it was Christmas day, none of the supermarkets in his area were working. Sandor knew there were couple of local newsagents who could still be open, plus there was a good pizza place nearby, so he offered to order something for their lunch and dinner there.

“It will be pepperoni pizza for me,” Sansa smiled, taking off her outerwear and watching Stranger running to his toys with a happy sneeze. “Or the one with ham and mushrooms.”

She went to the bathroom then, and Sandor made a quick call, ordering two large pizzas and two bottles of coke. He put on a kettle, so they could have some hot drinks after being outside, and when Sansa was back she was met by a cup of tea and some biscuits Sandor found in his kitchen.

“You know, it’s good to have something to warm ourselves up,” Sandor mumbled, taking his seat at the table and grabbing a biscuit, which he dipped into the tea straight away.

Sansa giggled and placed a soft kiss on his left cheek before seating herself in front of him. Stranger, who also got his meal, was purring loudly from the corner of the small kitchen.

It was quite nice, seating like this with Sansa and simply drinking tea. She was texting her family and Sandor busied himself with reading some news and social media updates. They didn’t talk much, it it still was nice. And warm. And Sandor knew he liked it. To be honest, he never thought that something like this could ever happen in his life. He was an ugly and sometimes mean bastard with the hobbies which were considered by the handful amount of women he met as a childish ones, none of those women would simply seat with him in his kitchen and drink some tea with tasty biscuits just because they wanted to spend some time with Sandor.

  
And there was Sansa. Nice, sweet Sansa which wasn’t appalled by Sandor’s appearance, nor by his character or interests. She told him she liked him as he was, and the whole concept of being accepted just because he was _Sandor Clegane_ was completely new for him. And a little bit unbelievable, to be honest. But it was real, and Sandor liked it.

Their pizzas were delivered closer to the lunchtime and Sandor offered his girlfriend to go to the living room, where they could eat their meal and watch some dumb videos on web. Sansa agreed and Sandor had to lock Stranger in his bedroom. He loved his fluffy bastard so much, but having him in the same room with fresh, hot pizza was kind of risky decision.

The pizzas were really good, and they kept chatting about completely random things while some clips from the streaming service were playing on the background. Sansa told him with mad giggles that Robb texted her about a huge scandal which happened in the manor after Eddard Stark returned there from hospital.

“Apparently, Rickon wasn’t so sincere in his desire to groom Stranger,” she almost whispered these words, even if there was nobody else to eavesdrop on them. “Robb told me that our dear uncle Petyr found his fancy and expensive coat covered in the cat fur.”

Sandor, who’ve just gulped a good amount of coke, had to stay as calm as possible, how difficult it wasn’t.

“But there’s more,” Sansa giggled. “ _ Apparently _ , this cat fur was mixed with the superglue, which means that our dear uncle can’t just take his coat and brush it. He was so disappointed in our family that he had a very loud argument with father and promised not to visit their house again.”

“Good for your family,” Sandor shrugged. “The less they’ll have that bugger at the family gatherings the better.”

“The question is, where Rick got a superglue for it,” Sansa sighed, and Sandor decided not to tell her about Bran’s presence in their youngest brother’s bedroom. After all, Bran was considered as the calmest and most-behaved son of the Stark family, and knowing that he had played a major part in something mischievous would completely ruin his image in the eyes of his family.

“I think he simply asked someone,” Sandor shrugged. “You know, said he needed it for his school project or something.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Sansa chuckled. “But I’d like to see uncle Petyr’s face at the very moment he took his jacket. Poor thing. I mean, the jacket.”

Sandor laughed and stood up, taking away an empty cardboard boxes. They decided to keep the remaining slices for their dinner, so he put them in the fridge and returned to Sansa, opening the bedroom door on his way. Stranger rushed out of it, pacing to his master’s girlfriend and loudly complaining about the unfairness of this world.

Sansa loved that fluffy ass for sure, Sandor noted with a snort. She took the screeching cat on her lap and started to pet him with a sweet cooing, which made Sandor grin like an idiot. He sat next to her, pretending he was very interested in what was happening on the screen, but he was eyeing Sansa and Stranger out of the corner of his eyes from time to time.

This scene was so domestic it hurt a little bit. But Sandor liked it.

When Stranger had finally calmed down and was loudly purring on Sansa’s lap, she offered Sandor to spent some time on video games. He agreed, and the rest of their afternoon had passed with two of them deeply engaged into the fighting matches. Sandor won fifteen of them, while Sansa had outplayed him just by two. 

“It’s so sad we didn’t discuss what the winner will get,” she giggled after she finally put her controller away. “I’d really want to get a wish or something like that as my reward.”

Sandor grumbled that he was ready to fulfill any of her wishes and Sansa’s cheeks suddenly went red.

“If you say so,” she bit on her lip, suddenly feeling nervous. “Then can I stay at your place for tonight? I mean, Marge texted me she has her boyfriend over, as she thought I will spend more time with my family, so…”

“Of course,” Sandor blurted out, trying not to say something extra. Like offering Sansa to stay in his flat forever, or any other cliched rubbish, which would make him look like a total idiot.

Sansa grinned and leaned forward, pressing her lips to his. The kiss was quick and soft, they weren’t sitting in the most comfortable position, as Sansa still had Stranger on her lap, but for Sandor it still was one of the sweetest kisses he ever received from her.

_Bloody hell_ , Sandor thought later on, when they were laying on his bed and Sansa’s delicate fingers were slowly stroking his forearm. She was trying hard to stay awake, but a heavy meal and the whole last day, which was full of different events, made their job and Sansa was so sleepy already. She was stroking his hand and looking at him from time to time through her long lashes, and Sandor felt his hands were trembling while he was caressing her hair.

It was still difficult for him to embrace the whole situation of him being in his flat with a pretty lass in his hands, but he tried. God know how much he tried, but it was so difficult for someone like Sandor to believe in it.

“Sansa,” he whispered, not even waiting for the answer. But she made a tiny moan of acknowledgement, despite her eyes being already closed. Sandor moved a little bit and placed a kiss on the top of her head.

“Sansa,” he repeated with a dumb smile. It was so nice, just being able to hold her like this and say her name. Bronn or Jaime would say that Sandor was turning into a lovesick fool, but he didn’t really care. He really liked it.

  
One thing he knew for sure that he really liked this whole situation, how unreal it was. And he wouldn’t mind for it to become a routine. Hopefully, a daily routine. Well, not just with simple cuddling or innocent caresses, but he could wait. But anyway, he would make everything what was depending on him to make these nights with Sansa in his hand _their_ routine.

When he was already falling into a deep sleep, Sandor suddenly realised that now he knew how all those stupid Christmas comedies the Rev’d Raymond was telling him about were ending. Not that he really needed this knowledge, but at least there was one mystery less for him to solve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> about Rickon and superglue: i have no idea if it works everywhere, but at some occasions i had to buy superglue in three different parts of UK, and Every Time i was asked to show a proof that i'm over 18 (the same went with buying knifes and lighters, for example). so yeah, Rickon wouldn't be able to get it without a help from someone else...


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW I'M FINALLY HERE  
> Of course, February isn't Christmas or New Year's eve, but...

“So yes, I will be waiting for both of you to show up,” Stannis said, dragging Sandor out of his usual daydreaming.

He shook his head and frowned.

“Both of us?” he repeated, wanting to clarify what he had missed while thinking of how he could afford getting both a new generation console and a pair of tickets to go somewhere for their summer holiday.

“That’s right,” Stannis nodded, looking very serious. “Both you and Sansa are invited to the party.”

“I agree with Stannis,” Bronn piped in. “After all, the last time you finally got some guts to introduce your girlfriend to us had changed you for the better.”

“How so?” Sandor cocked his eyebrow.

“Let’s see,” Bronn started to tick off his fingers. “Firstly, you are not acting like a grumpy caveman anymore. And you also agreed to participate in some company gatherings during the past year. And it seems that you aren’t spending as much time at your flat as you had before.”

“Bronn’s right,” Stannis nodded. “That Christmas party had changed something in you - and in your relationship with your own girlfriend. As if everything you told us was a lie and you’ve just started dating her after the party.”

“Um, no,” Sandor mumbled, averting his gaze and shifting uncomfortably. “Of course it wasn’t.”

“Stannis is joking,” Bronn chuckled. “But yeah, bringing Sansa to the party had a good effect on you, so you should definitely do the same this year. Besides, half of our department is coming with their wives or girlfriends.”

“And I’m taking my daughter,” Stannis added.

“Come on, Sansa will like Laser Tag!” Bronn beamed.

“And is your wife coming?” Sandor asked him. To everyone’s surprise, Bronn had ended his careless life of an everlasting bachelor and married the lass he met just before the last Christmas. They weren’t dating even for half a year when he had suddenly announced to his colleagues he and Lollys were about to get married in two weeks.

“Nope,” Bronn shrugged. “I mean, Laser Tag is not that harmful as some other activities could be, but still it’s not the best place for a woman who’s expecting.”

“Excuse me?” Stannis gaped. “You didn’t tell us anything about your wife being pregnant.”

“Aye,” Sandor nodded. “And we are not just your colleagues, but your friends, right?”

“It’s still a secret for almost everyone” Bronn laughed. “But I’ll tell you everything a little bit later on.”

“We’ve got your word,” Stannis frowned, but then turned back to Sandor and eyed his with the same expression. “But Bronn’s story won’t change the fact that we will be expecting your girlfriend to join us for the party.”

“Not sure if she will be able to go,” Sandor sighed. “She’s coming back from the training camp today, and I have no idea if there’s nothing else planned for her team until the end of December.”

“But if she’s staying in London she must come,” Stannis was adamant. “Nobody could refuse Laser Tag and an evening at the pizza restaurant.”

“I’ll check with Sansa,” Sandor nodded with another deep sigh. “Still, not sure if I should bring my girlfriend to the party.”

“If you’re afraid that she will have to face Tormund again, I can talk to the old man,” Bronn laughed.

“Besides,” Stannis shrugged. “If you’re so repulsed by the idea of bringing your girlfriend to the party, you can always come with your  _ fiance _ .”

“Thanks for deciding for me,” Sandor grumbled.

“But you’re dating Sansa for about three years now, you should be prepared for such comments,” Bronn pointed. “Plus, if you’ll have guts to propose to Sansa before Christmas party, you’ll help me to get my fifty quid.”

“Your  _ what _ ?” 

“His fifty quid,” Stannis explained in a tone as if Sandor was a dumb child. “I don’t think it should be a big surprise for you that your lovely colleagues are placing bets on the way things in your life are going.”

“You’ve placed a bet on Podrick’s chances to hook up with that pretty lass from the human resources,” Bronn added. “So yeah, don’t start complaining that someone else did the same in regards to your private life.”

“Bugger off,” Sandor sighed.

“Still,” Stannis massages his temples. “I don’t think that such activities can be tolerated at work. Betting on your colleagues, for god’s sake.”

He grumbled something else about rules which should be applied to this workplace and retreated to his office, shaking his head in disapproval.

“Don’t take his words to heart,” Bronn shrugged, finally dragging his lazy ass back to his table. “Besides, if you’ll propose to Sansa now, I’m sure our dear boss will be in a very good mood during the party.”

“Why so?” Sandor cocked his eyebrow.

“Because anyone would be in a very good mood after getting their seventy quid,” Bronn snorted, hiding behind his large monitor display.

Sandor was finally left alone, just him, his project, and his thoughts about what he should do next.

  
  


* * *

  
  


When Sandor arrived home, the huge furball called Stranger decided to jump on his head from the hallway shelf.

“Oh come on,” Sandor muttered, while taking Stranger in his arms. “I thought we’ve already cure you of this habit.”

The huge ragdoll rolled on his back and started to purr like crazy. Sandor sighed, scratching him behind his ear and looking around. There was Sansa’s large suitcase standing next to the bedroom’s door, and after Stranger finally calmed down Sandor was able to hear some splashing sounds from the bathroom. Apparently, Sansa had arrived home earlier than both of them were expecting. Good.

After her graduation (which Sandor had attended together with Sansa’s parents, who took the news of their daughter’s education better than it was expected), Sansa quickly got a placement within the management team in one of the biggest football clubs in London. As a newbie, she was just assisting the U23 team’s manager, but Sansa was more than sure it was a perfect position for her. She really enjoyed her job, and Sandor was glad his girlfriend was able to work within a field she’d chosen herself. The only problem were training camps and away games, all of them required Sansa’s presence far from their flat, which was always ending up in countless phone calls during their parting and a mind-blowing sex on Sansa’s return.

This time she was away for two bloody weeks, and Sandor was getting grumpier and grumpier with each day, trying to do with chores or gaming. He even started to learn how to cook something more difficult than scrambled eggs or hot sandwiches, as with Sansa’s absence he had way much free time just for himself.

He had to prepare a dinner for his cat, and when Stranger finally busied himself with his food, Sandor put on the kettle. There was enough pasta with bolognese sauce for both him and Sansa, which he prepared yesterday, so there was no need for him to spend time on cooking. He took out two huge mugs and got a pack of sweets from the kitchen shelf, so when Sansa had finally emerged from the bathroom there was a full dinner waiting for her on the table.

“Sandor!” she beamed, stretching her arms for a reunion hug. Sandor quickly moved to her side and dragged his girlfriend into a tight embrace, burying his face in her wet hair and inhaling her scent. She was smelling of her sweet shampoo and shower gel, but at the same time Sandor still was able to feel her own scent, which was always driving him mad. He squeezed his eyes shut, one of his hands sliding under Sansa’s short bathrobe.

“Two weeks are too much for me,” he grumbled, hearing Sansa’s soft chuckle. She moved a little bit, making a step back and creating a space between them.

“I’ve missed you too, Sandor,” she chirped sweetly, standing on the tips of her toes and placing no less sweet kiss on his chin.

“Are you hungry?” Sandor asked, eyeing his girlfriend and noticing that her breath had quickened straight away.

“Maybe,” she answered in a singing voice, running her hands down Sandor shirt and latching on to his belt. “Quite hungry for a  _ proper  _ welcome, you know.”

“I think I’ll accept your invitation,” Sandor laughed, suddenly sweeping Sansa up and walking out of the kitchen. She giggled, latching on to his shoulders, and kissed his cheek.

Stranger made a loud mewl, raising his head and eyeing his masters with a judging expression.

“Sorry, boy, your parents need to have some time for themselves,” Sandor grumbled, closing the kitchen’s door with one hand and making his way to the bedroom. Sansa was still giggling, clinging to him.

Sandor put her on their bed, loosing a knot on her bathrobe and opening it. Of course Sansa didn’t have anything underneath.

“Well, that’s a very inappropriate action from your side, young lady,” Sandor snorted, leaning down and nuzzling her breasts.

“Everything for you,” Sansa giggled, arching her back and moaning as soon as Sandor’s tongue finally got in contact with one of her nipples.

He was licking and sucking on it, taking care of the other nipple with his fingers, and soon enough the whole room was filled with Sansa’s tiny gasps and sweet moans. She arched her back and closed her eyes, her fingers running through Sandor’s hair.

“More,” she asked in a tiny voice when he finally pulled away. Sandor nodded, trying to hold his breath. He stand up, taking off his shirt and unbuckling his belt. He could just unzip them and simply take her just like this, he knew that Sansa won’t mind - after all, she was always open for different scenarios in their bed, but Sandor wanted to feel her hot and soft body with his bare skin.

He turned away, tossing his shirt on the chair and taking his pants and boxers off. He even got rid of the socks, leaving them together with his shirt, and only then he faced Sansa again. He was half-hard already, his breath quickened and his pulse beating so fast that Sandor was able to hear it in his head. And when he finally looked at his girlfriend once again, he hold his breath, biting on his lower lip.

Sansa took her time to toss her bathrobe away. She was laying on their bed, naked and glorious, her red hair mussed up and her fingers playing with her tits. She looked at Sandor through her lowered lashes and there was no shame in her stare at all.

“Do you like what you see?” she chirped in a sweet, almost innocent voice, as if she wasn’t laying there and pinching her hardened nipples with her delicate fingers. Sandor gulped down and nodded. Sansa smiled, fully satisfied with his answer, and slowly parted her legs, her glistening cunt coming into Sandor’s view.

_ Fuck _ . Alright, he was hard now.

Sandor knew he would really like to spend some time with his face buried between Sansa’s gorgeous long legs until she would scream in pleasure. Or that he would really like to tease her longer, making her come as many times as it was possible, before finally entering her. But he would have a full night for it, after they will eat their dinner and have some rest. Then he would definitely take his time and properly feast on Sansa’s body. But for now both of them were so impatient and randy they didn’t have time for anything like slow caresses or long foreplay.

Sandor climbed on their bed, spreading Sansa’s legs a little bit wider and positioning himself between them.

“Go on,” Sansa panted as her fingers gave a twist on her nipples. “ _ Please _ .”

Sandor nodded, running his fingers along her wet folds and parting them, the head of his cock pressed to her opening. Sansa moaned, bucking her hips and reaching out for an embrace. Sandor leaned forward, so she was able to throw her arms around his neck, and thrust into her in a swift motion.

_ Perfection _ .

Sansa was moaning and moving together with him, her lips swollen after she was biting them. Sandor growled, pressing his mouth to her neck and sucking her tender skin in. His thrusts started to become erratic, Sansa’s sweet scent was enveiling him and making his hands shake.

“S-Sandor,” she gasped, arching her back and moaning so loudly Sandor was sure the whole building had to hear them. He raised his head, stopping on licking and biting her neck, and silenced his girlfriend with a deep kiss. Sansa moaned into his mouth, her tongue touching Sandor’s one. Even her mouth was sweet, Sandor had no idea what kind of magic it was.

He felt Sansa throwing her legs around his hips, as her erratic movements matched his ones, there were tears in the corner of her eyes.

“I can’t…” she gasped, breaking their kiss. “Too much… Sandor!”

_ Fuck _ . He spilled inside her as soon as he felt the tight, hot walls of her cunt clenching around his cock. Sansa was panting and mewling, her body shaking in release. Sandor growled, bucking his hips for the the last time before he was able to get hold on himself and not to fall right on Sansa.

“Amazing,” Sansa mumbled happily after he rolled on his back next to her. “No, Sandor, it was  _ amazing _ .”

“Welcome home,” he chuckled, reaching out his hand and tangling his fingers in Sansa’s hair, caressing the long locks gently. Sansa smiled and moved to his side, cuddling up to him and pressing a quick kiss on Sandor’s shoulder.

“Maybe I should offer my boss to organise even more training camps, if it will mean I will always get such greeting,” she giggled, teasing him.

“Please don’t,” Sandor grumbled, closing his eyes and barking with laughter.

They stayed like this for some time, Sansa’s fingers playing with his chest hair, while he was still caressing her locks in the most tender way his rough and huge fingers were able to do so.

“My mother called me yesterday, by the way,” Sansa suddenly said, her fingers running up and down Sandor’s chest. “She asked if we will join them for the Christmas dinner, but I’ve already said that we won’t be there.”

“Why not?” Sandor snorted. “The last year wasn’t as bad as I was expecting it, to be honest. After all, I was able to spend some time in a fancy mansion and get myself a girlfriend. Plus, this year will be way calmer by default, since Harry the Fuckhead wasn’t invited and your aunt had some common sense to divorce that imperialistic toad.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sansa nodded. “But I really wanted to spend this Christmas here. Just me and you. Well, and Stranger, of course, but still.”

“That’s a nice wish,” Sandor chuckled, leaning down and pressed his lips to the top of her head. “Just you and me. And Stranger, of course. I like it.”

“Me too,” Sansa smiled, looking him in the eye. “We could spend the whole Christmas day inside, eating some unhealthy food and playing games. And then go for a stroll in the afternoon.”

“Deal,” Sandor nodded. 

Sansa placed a soft kiss on his jaw and sat up, stretching her hands.

“But we should go and see my family one day,” she said, climbing out of their bed and making her way to the wardrobe, not even bothering to cover herself with a bathrobe or bedsheet.

Sandor rolled on his side, his eyes glued to Sansa’s naked body. She was so gorgeous, he had no idea how someone else could tell her any horrible thing about her body in the past. Sandor watched her going through some of her clothes and underwear, listening with half an ear to her chirping, a smile appearing on his face.

  
Bronn and Stannis were right, his life _had_ changed after Sansa’s appearance in it. He had no idea if he really started to look softer and less grumpy in their eyes, but at least his colleagues had pointed right on the fact Sandor was able to change some of his habits. He wasn’t attached to his flat as much as he was before, going for strolls with Sansa from time to time. She wasn’t a fan of long walks too, but being together was making their time more pleasurable. They started to spend some of their weekends outside, visiting different parks and museums, at some point they even got tickets for several London derbies, as well as attended a huge comic convention at the end of spring. Sansa even followed through on her threat, making both of them dress as the characters from video games. It was kind of embarrassing, but Sandor would lie if he said he didn’t have fun.

With Sansa by his side his life became… fuller? Sandor had no idea how to call it, he was just happy enough to be able to spend almost all his free time in her company, and he liked it. Hopefully, Sansa felt the same. Sandor closed his eyes from a second, sighing quietly. Sometimes he was still questioning himself if it was happening in the reality, and from time to time the fear that one day Sansa will have enough with his habits, his life, his looks and _him_ in general and will say her farewells was creeping into his mind. It was difficult to deal with it in the beginning of their _proper_ relationship, but eventually Sandor learnt how to manage this sudden doubt attacks.

But apart of them, Sandor was happy. He was sure the warm feeling inside his chest every time he looked at Sansa, or talked to Sansa, or felt her hugs, or listened to her moans was happiness. Or at least had hoped so. In his  _ pre-Sansa _ life he would never even think he was eligible for this happiness, but now Sandor knew that if there were people who were destined to go to heaven after their deaths, it had to be the developers of the fighting game, who created the algorithm which had randomly paired him with Sansa on the day they met for the first time online.

Sometimes life was full of strange coincidences.

Sandor made a quiet chuckle, eyeing Sansa and not being able to take his eyes off of her. She was folding some of her clothes while talking about her plans for their visit of Stark mansion on Easter holidays, and Sandor knew he could spend the whole day just simply laying down and watching Sansa doing anything she wanted. Her actions didn’t matter for him, he just loved watching the movements of her body, listening to her sweet voice, noting changes of her expression, he just simply loved Sansa, and it was…

Sandor choked on his breath, feeling a sudden pain in his chest.

_ He loved Sansa. _

It was so strange. After they started dating the last year, somehow they’ve never spoken about their feelings at all. There were mutual affection and respect, as well as a very pleasant addition of a mind blowing sex and sweet embraces, and Sansa managed to become the proper part of his life rather quickly. So quickly they didn’t even spend their time on stupid dates with flowers and confessions.

They both knew they were important for each other. They’ve literally spent almost all their free time together, it was known they were fond of each other. Sandor could keep going on telling Sansa what he liked about her or in her appearance, cooking, gaming style, anything else. And Sansa was always making her remarks about how much she liked one thing or another in her boyfriend. It was quite normal for them, and somehow Sandor didn’t even realise that none of them had never expressed their  _ love  _ to each other.

But it had to be  _ love _ , right?

The happiness he felt each time Sansa was smiling at him. The hours they spent together doing whatever they wanted. The time he spend with Sansa when she had suddenly caught a terrible flu in the middle of hot summer. The small presents they were bringing to each other from time to time. The dull emptiness he felt in his chest when Sansa was away with her team. The warmth which spread over his body each time Sansa was making satisfied sounds when she was happy with something he did for her.

All those things had to be connected to the whole concept of love, Sandor was sure of it.

He was also sure he was an idiot. Having such strong feelings for Sansa for this long and never saying them out loud.

“So, what do you think?” Sansa chirped, walking back to bed with her hands on her hips. “About the whole idea, I mean.”

Sandor gulped down a lump in the throat, looking at her and suddenly losing his voice. He was just staring at her as an idiot he was, eyeing his girlfriend in a completely new light.

“Sandor,” Sansa pouted, leaning forward. “Now I’m starting to feel my idea is stupid. Say something, alright?”

Sandor nodded, licking his suddenly dry lips.

“I love you,” he almost whispered it, but in his head it sounded like the loudest scream in the whole world.

Sansa shuddered to a halt, looking at Sandor with widened eyes, but stayed silent. She wasn’t moving, her face wasn’t showing any emotion apart from the one which stuck to her face when Sandor blurted out those words, and she was  _ silent _ . Sandor had no idea how long they stayed like this - him laying on their bed and feeling his hands starting to shake, and Sansa standing in front of him as if she was completely frozen.

The doubtful thoughts creeped back to Sandor’s hand, whispering that these words were definitely too much for Sansa. Nobody wanted to hear a  _ love  _ confession from a man like him, right? There was no way a gentle soul like Sansa could accept his feelings, she was too good for someone like him. Sandor wanted to shake his head to hunt these thoughts away, but he wasn’t able to move.

Fuck. He wanted to take his words back.

But before he could feel any proper regret for his spontaneous action, Sansa suddenly made her way to the bed, seating herself on its edge, her hands crossed on her lap. She didn’t say a word, she just sat there and looked at her hands. They were trembling, Sandor noted. The same as his hands.

He wanted to reach out for Sansa, but then she moved again, laying down and cuddling up to his chest, her shuddered breath hot on his neck. She moved in a total silence and Sandor had no idea what she would do next. He laid there still, looking at Sansa’s crown of the hair and being afraid to touch her. As if he knew he could ruin something with any single movement.

“Sansa?” he almost whispered, breaking the silence but not expecting her to answer. He just wanted to call his girlfriend by her name, so she could at least give him a quick nod of acknowledgement, showing she wasn’t mad at him.

She shuddered, and Sandor felt her lips touching his neck so lightly as if by a mere accident.

“I love you,” Sansa whispered, pressing her whole body to his. She was shaking a little bit, and Sandor finally raised his hands to throw them around her soft body and caress her back and her hair in a soothing motion.

Sansa made a loud sigh and as her lips still were pressed to his skin, Sandor was able to feel her smile.

Their dinner was cold for sure. And Sandor knew he will have to boil the kettle once again. But he didn’t really care about it, at this moment he simply needed to stay like this - laying down and having Sansa in his arms. Their bodies squeezed together, their legs tangled, their hearts beating at the same speed.

Aye. That was all he needed at this moment.

He could let his boss know he will definitely get his seventy quid a bit later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't believe what i see...
> 
> it became something else than i've initially planed, as sometimes fanfics can take over their authors, lol, but yeah, it's done.  
> thank you for reading :)


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